


Nightmare factory

by Seven_silver_sickles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Angst, Looking for beta reader, M/M, Malfoy is an asshole, Mild Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, N-word, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Sexual Tension, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-03-26 06:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19000162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seven_silver_sickles/pseuds/Seven_silver_sickles
Summary: We‘re writing the year 1845. London's streets are filthy and reek of oil and sweat. Dubious figures are lurking in the shadows, the rich in their carriages stay on the safe main roads and don't dare to go outside after the sun has set. The poor, on the other hand, normally don't get to see the sun at all - the factories open their gates too early and close them too late. In the masses of unhealthy workers, maladies breed disgustingly well.Somewhere among the proletariat, Harry Potter, a sixteen year old orphan, is struggling to survive. Surprisingly, he always managed to get by. But what happens when the factory he's working for goes bankrupt? And what does the company called 'Malfoy and Son' have to do with it?





	1. Umbridge.inc

We‘re writing the year 1845. London's streets are filthy and reek of oil and sweat. Dubious figures are lurking in the shadows, the rich in their carriages stay on the safe main roads and don't dare to go outside after the sun has set. The poor, on the other hand, normally don't get to see the sun at all - the factories open their gates too early and close them too late. In the masses of unhealthy workers, maladies breed disgustingly well.

As an orphan, life had never been easy for Harry. It held many moments of bitterness, days of loneliness and years of hard work. The orphanage he grew up in was poor, too poor to keep feeding him when he reached the tender age of eleven years.  
Now Harry is sixteen years old, but in every way an adult. His arms are strong from the physical labor, his juvenile face is always dirty. He can barely afford the square glasses that sit on his nose and slide down every now and then. They were the cheapest model he found, bought from someone who thought they were too broken to keep wearing them.  
He‘s working for Umbridge.inc, a railway tracks factory. Luckily, his boss employed him when Harry was eleven, homeless and looking for a job. Mr. Umbridge had inspected the young, messy haired kid skeptically, but when his wife, a Lady dressed in horrible pink, argued that they didn't need to pay a kid the full price and that Harry's small fingers could fit everywhere, Mr. Umbridge did what she wanted him to.  
Now Harry knows that the factory owner is a mere puppet of his wife. She has the control, she knows about the ongoings in the factory, she takes all the important decisions. Mrs. Umbridge is an awful woman, sometimes she decides to patrol the factory herself and punishes everyone who doesn't work hard enough. One day she felt particularly cruel and made Harry work until he collapsed from exhaustion; but Harry didn't argue. Everything was better than being kicked out. 

Now he‘s in front of the machines again, just like any other day, minding his business, doing his best not to stand out.  
“Hey!“ The boy next to Harry nudges his shoulder. Harry turns his head towards him, never letting go of his screwdriver, never stopping his work.  
“What's it?“, he asks quietly. The boy next to him is a lanky guy, tall, with a dirty freckled face and ginger hair that pokes out of his flat hat. Harry knows him a little, that guy‘s been working here for a year already. He‘s seen him around.  
“Did you hear?“, the boy whispers. “The Umbridges are broke.“  
A chill runs down Harry's spine. Oh no, he didn't know. He sure suspected that they weren't doing well as many workers were kicked out in the last week, but he hadn't known for sure.  
“Are they - are they going to shut us down?“, Harry asks quickly and raises his eyes to check if the watchman is looking at him. He can‘t be caught chatting with someone.  
“Fortunately not“, the ginger whispers back. “Would have been a bloody disaster. No, the Umbridges are selling the factory.“   
This is news to Harry. He raises his eyebrow. “To whom?“  
“Potter, Weasley, shut the hell up and get back to work!“, the watchman shouts angrily. “Sorry, Sir“, Harry hurries to say and turns his head back. He energetically screws in the screws, doesn't dare to look up at Weasley again. That's what the watchman called him, right?  
It is only when the factory closes that Harry opens his mouth again. “Hey, Weasley“, he speaks up. The ginger boy turns towards him. “You can call me Ron“, he answers while packing his tiny rucksack. “Ron“, Harry tries again. “So, who are the Umbridges selling to?“  
Ron scratches his nose. His filthy fingers leave an oily splodge on his face. “Now this is only rumors, but I heard that Malfoy And Son is taking over the business. The Malfoys are richer than god and more evil than the devil.“ Together they walk through the factories iron gate. The sky is of a dark blue and the first stars are already shining faintly. Harry is too tired to admire the view.  
“Sounds bad“, he sighs. “And when are they going to take over?“  
Ron shrugs. “I don't know. Next week? Next month? Can't be too long.“ He points his finger to the left. “I gotta go in that direction. You tagging along?“ Harry shakes his head. All he wants to do now is sleep. Desperately.  
“I need to go the other way. See you tomorrow, I suppose.“ Ron nods. “Kay. Bye then.“  
“Good night“, Harry gives back.

He turns away from his new acquaintance and walks down the cobbled street. Soon it would be too dark to see. Harry jumps when he hears a cough coming from a dark corner, but then realizes that it is just an old beggar lying on a few newspapers, trying to sleep.  
He keeps going, passing some weird man, maybe a thief, who seems to be watching him and hurries past a group of quietly talking workers. Harry turns into a broader street.  
A late carriage nearly runs him over and Harry jumps aside. Laughter is coming from the inside, it's a man and a woman's voice. “Watch it, asshole!“, Harry shouts to the coachman. The carriage stops. Oh no, Harry thinks. Now that privileged bitch is going to try teach him a lesson. He is too tired to deal with this bullshit.  
His square glasses have slipped halfway down his nose. Harry pushes them back up again.  
“Why are we stopping, coachman?“, The man inside the carriage shouts. He leans out of the window to look outside. Harry spots light blond hair and a pointy young face.  
“This peasant insulted you, sir!“, the coachman shouts back with a dark, raspy voice. “What?“, asks the woman's voice now and her head appears in the window, too. Dark hair, fringes, dark eyes. Harry can't see much more than that. “Teach that guy some manners, would you, darling?“, she asks the man next to her. Harry doesn't like her bossy tone, and neither does the blond guy, because he bawls her out. “Don't try to tell me what to do. I'm too good to get out of the carriage just for some street boy.“ Harry sighs and walks around the carriage to go home. They say something he doesn't understand. The girl is laughing again and he can hear the man calling her his favorite pussy. How disgusting.  
That Harry doesn't like pussies or bitches is probably his smallest problem, he thinks when he comes home. He has a small room to himself, kitchen and bed next to each other, but it is not as if he ever has time to cook something. Maybe some day he will get married and have children, maybe then he will have a larger flat. But he doesn't have parents to find him a wife and it's not as if he'd be a good husband or anything. If Harry longs for anyone, it is men, not women. But giving into that feeling really isn't an option.  
Harry washes his face and his hands. He quickly eats some bread and drinks a glass of milk. He lays down his glasses on the kitchen table and crawls into the bed. He closes his eyes and is soon fast asleep.

Two weeks later, Harry finds out that Ron was right. Form one day to the other, the Umbridges are gone. They didn't even bother to say goodbye.  
Harry walks through the factory's iron gate, where a young woman in a woolen skirt is painting over the shield saying “Umbridge.inc“. Trying not to waste too much time, Harry quickly asks: “What are you going to write over it?“  
“Malfoy And Son“, the woman briefly answers and Harry nods to himself.  
Ron's standing on his usual place. “Oi, Harry“, he greets his friend. “You arrived just in time. The Malfoys are coming.“  
As if they were afraid, all the workers go rigid. They straighten their shoulders and raise their chins. Everyone is flaunting their best features, trying not to look weak or sick.  
Down the corridor walks a man in an expensive looking waistcoat, long blond hair tied to a ponytail, holding a walking cane. Behind him, a younger man is following after. He has the same blond hair, short though, a pointy face and an unfriendly sneer.  
“Malfoy and his son“, Ron dares to whisper. Harry doesn't answer.  
He recognizes the younger Malfoy. It was the unfriendly man in the unusually late carriage. Only now Harry notices that he is probably about his same age.  
The two Malfoys stop in front of an elderly worker. Harry knows that he works in the smithy, he sometimes sees him walk out of it.  
“Take some deep breaths“, Malfoy Senior orders and the man in front of him nervously takes a few shaky breaths. Then the inevitable happens - he coughs.  
Oh no, Harry thinks. Poor old man. “Unfit for work“, Malfoy comments. “Pack your things and leave.“ The man is shaking all over. He raises his dirty hands in a plea. “Mr. Malfoy, please, I have been working here for years! Mr. Umbridge promised not to send me away, I -“ The walking cane smacks the old man's head and he stops talking. “Go“, Malfoy repeats and Harry clenches his fist. This isn't fair. No one else is going to employ this man anymore, he's too old for that. He'll land on the streets.  
The Malfoys continue their stroll through the lined-up workers. “So many hands“, Mr. Malfoy casually says to his son. “We need to sort out the lazy, Draco.“ The son nods. Now that the two are coming nearer, Harry can see them more properly. He adjusts his glasses.  
The head of the walking cane Malfoy Senior is carrying has the shape of a snake's head. To his horror, Harry sees that blood's dripping down form it. He really hit the old man that hard?  
Mr. Malfoy is eyeing Ron and him. Harry prays to god that he doesn't find anything he dislikes. Is it the glasses he's looking at? Please, Harry prays, let him ignore the glasses.  
Malfoy stops. “And here“, he says, “a ginger. Do you know why we don't like gingers, Draco?“ The son who was formerly looking the other way, turns around. He looks quite handsome, he'd have nice lips if he didn't sneer that arrogantly. “Gingers are poor workers, bad health, weak muscles“, the son answers. Harry musters his body. Definitely less muscle than Ron. He has no right to talk like that.  
Ron's face has gone white. “Looks sick“, Malfoy says without commenting on his son's words. “Fired.“  
“I work hard!“, Ron shouts quickly. “Please, even for half the pay!“ Malfoy and his son put on a nasty grin. “Half the pay? Good. Name?“  
“Ronald Bilius Weasley“, Ron says and looks to the ground. “Half the pay for Weasel“, the son says with a grin, “Because he's ginger.“  
This is all so unfair, so terribly unfair.  
“How are you able to survive?“, Harry mutters under his breath when the Malfoys have turned their backs to them.  
“Have a large family“, Ron whispers. “We help each other.“  
Harry's happy for Ron, but he's also jealous. He doesn't even know what having a family is like. Having someone help him with the money is a dream too wild for him. He's two months late with paying the rent for his room.  
When the Malfoys have kicked out at least another ten workers, the rest of them are allowed to go back to work. The amount of watchmen has doubled and it is basically impossible to talk even a tiny bit during work.  
Other than that, not much changes for Harry. The job is the same, his working pace is the same as it was already fast before. When he is done for the day, his wrists hurt and his muscles ache. His eyelids are heavy. Harry says goodbye to Ron at the iron fence that now bears big red letters saying “Malfoy And Son“. He drags himself home and falls asleep quickly.

When he wakes to a fist hammering on his door in the morning, Harry jumps. He remembers now that he forgot something yesterday - pay day. Not the good one where he gets money, but the bad one. He should have finally payed rent for his flat, but he was too busy worrying about the new factory owners.  
Harry gets up quickly and opens the door. Dursley is standing in front of him, a large man with a fat mustache and an angry red head. “I waited for you yesterday, boy!“, he shouts and the vein on his forehead looks like it is going to burst soon.  
“I'm so, so, sorry!“, Harry hurries to say. Dursley stretches out his chubby hand. “The money, now“, he demands.  
Harry scrambles through his drawer and finds some cash. He hands it over. Dursley squints his eyes and counts. It is not enough, Harry knows that.  
“This flat is too good for you“, Dursley growls. “Take a bed in a worker's dormitory, boy. Consider yourself kicked out.“ He stuffs the banknotes into his belt and slams the door shut behind him.  
Harry falls to his knees. He feels like crying, but doesn't. It's not the first time that this has happened to him. He will find something else.  
He packs the rest of his belongings. Everything fits into the old, battered bag Harry owns. He will manage. There is a little money left over, just a few pounds, but at least it's something.  
Harry leaves the key to his flat on the kitchen table and walks out of it for the last time in his life.

At work, Harry thinks about what he is going to do now. He can pay someone to let him stay at their home for a few nights, preferably someone who lives near the factory. He'd ask Ron, but Ron has a large family and Harry doesn't want to disturb them. Then, in one week, the factory should pay him. Once he has the money, he can go look for a new place, something of his own.  
He decides not to tell Ron about the misery he‘s in right now. He doesn't want to bother his new friend with his problems. When they leave the factory in the evening, Harry says goodbye quickly and goes to look for a temporary stay.  
Most doors he knocks on don't even open up. People are scared and tired at night, so Harry doesn't blame them. A mother sends him away with regret in her eyes, saying that every bed is already occupied by two people at least.  
Harry ends up walking through an alley filled with prostitutes, their lips red and dresses barely hiding anything.  
“What about me, darling?“, one of them asks and licks her lips. Harry proceeds without even looking at her. “Come here, baby!“, another one shouts and laughs. Harry walks faster.  
He knocks on another few doors, but without success, starting to regret that he didn't ask Ron for help, that would have been much easier.  
His legs are beginning to hurt and Harry sits down on a couple of stairs for a quick rest. He closes his eyes a little.

He must have dozed off, because suddenly a voice wakes him up. It's a voice he knows he's heard before.  
“Hey, pretty one“, the manly voice coaxes him awake. “I want you.“  
He hears the rattle of money falling down next to him and raises his head. A young man is standing in front of him, light blond hair and pointy face. Before Harry has a chance to understand what is going on, the other man is kneeling down in front of him and pressing his mouth to Harry's.  
This is Malfoy junior, Harry realizes.  
I'm being kissed, he realizes immediately afterwards.  
Malfoy groans a little and grabs Harry's head with both hands. He catches Harry's lower lip between his teeth and pulls a little.  
Harry puts his hand on Malfoy's shoulders and pushes away with all his force. He catches a glimpse of the confused look on the boy's face, before Malfoy screams and tumbles down the steps of the small staircase. “What the fuck?“, Harry manages. “I was sleeping here!“  
He watches incredulously as the boy quickly scrambles up, gets to his feet in panic and runs.  
When he's gone, a mad giggle escapes Harry. What the heck was this? This was Malfoy, Draco, right? What did he - did he really try to buy Harry?  
The money is still lying on the ground next to him. Harry picks it up and pockets it. He needs it more than that rich prick.  
As he looks around, he realizes that he's not the only one here. Several men are standing or walking around, watching him with more or less interest. Two appear to be necking on in a corner - finally Harry realizes where he's landed and why this just happened.  
He walks away quickly before someone could get the idea to take the coins from him. Harry walks back into the direction of the factory.  
Soon, the sky is getting lighter and lighter again. Dawn is coming and Harry didn't sleep much, but it is too late to find a stay now.  
He waits in front of the iron gate for it to open. Malfoy And Son, he reads. Then he laughs a little. Did the son of his new boss really try to pay him for a fuck? Was this all a dream? No, he thinks as he feels the coins in his pocket. They are the proof that he hasn't gone mad.


	2. The Weasleys

The factory opens up and soon Harry's back to work.  
He's hungry because yesterday he didn't eat at all. During the ten-minute lunch break Ron gives him half of his sandwich and Harry devours it gratefully. “You okay, mate?“, Ron asks him. “You don't look good. Did you sleep at all?“  
“Was kicked out“, Harry manages between the bites. “Couldn't pay. Looking for a new stay now.“  
And of course, Ron offers Harry a bed. “You can stay with my family for a few days, I'm sure Mum and Dad don't mind.“ “Thank you“, Harry breathes, relieved. He swallows the last bit of the sandwich. “I can pay you, at least a little bit.“  
Ron doesn't say no to that, of course he doesn't. He just smiles at Harry. “Don't worry. I've got you.“  
“Back to work!“, the watchman shouts and they jump up.  
The hours pass painfully slowly but at the end of the day, Harry's happy that he knows where he can sleep. This time, Ron and he don't part at the gate. Harry follows his freckled friend down the street.  
He searches his pocket and produces a few pounds out of it. “What about this for tonight?“  
Ron looks at the coins incredulously. “You just carry this around with you like that? That's quite a lot!“ Harry grins. “Yeah, I got them yesterday night.“  
Ron squints his eyes at Harry. “Are you involved in some sketchy business?“ Harry laughs. “Oh no, don't worry. But how I got these coins is an amusing story! You remember Malfoy's son?“ “Yes“, Ron answers warily, “What about him?“  
Harry smacks his lips playfully. “Yesterday I fell asleep on a street in some dimly-lit alley. I woke up to Malfoy junior trying to snog me and pay me for a fuck. I pushed the wanker off and he ran away, leaving his money on the ground.“  
Ron's jaw drops and he looks back and forth between Harry and the money. “Woah“, he manages and takes the offered coins. He throws them into the air and catches them again. Then he laughs.  
“You realize what that means, Harry?“ Harry shakes his head. “What do you mean?“ Ron lowers his voice secretively. “This, Harry, means that we‘ve got him. Draco Malfoy's a fag and we know his dirty secret. We can use that to our benefit!“  
Harry doesn't really understand. “How could that help us?“ “Just think, Harry!“, Ron says cheerfully. “The Malfoys are a wealthy and well-known family. They don't want a scandal, it could ruin them. If we put them under pressure, just imagine what we could have!“ Ron spreads his arms. “Fair pay, rich pay! Days off! Maybe even a larger home! Harry, this is our chance to change our lives for the better!“  
Harry hums in understanding. “We'll plan this out inside“, Ron says and pulls Harry along towards a narrow tenement. “Welcome to the burrow.“  
Soon Harry understands why the Weasley's home is called the burrow. There are many small doors and corridors, each leading to another bedroom. “How many family members of yours live here?“, Harry asks. “Well“, Ron answers, “There's me and my sister Ginny sharing a room. She's the youngest and the only one who doesn't work. Mom says she's clever, so we all help to fund school for her. Then there are Fred and George, a little older than me, twins. They also share a room. My brother Percy has a room of his own, I'm sure he lets you kip there. And then there is mom and dad. My two oldest brothers, Bill and Charlie, already married some women and moved out. But they visit sometimes.“  
Harry takes a good look at the kitchen he's standing in. It's a little shabby but it looks nice, there even are a few books lying around. There is a red and yellow carpet underneath the kitchen table and a kid's drawing is stuck to the wall. It looks cozy, homey. Better than Harry's flats ever looked.  
“I like it here“, Harry says quietly when suddenly, a door flies open.   
“Hello, Ron!“, chants the red-haired woman entering the home. “I'm a little late, I had to buy some groceries on the way. Turn on the stove, will you?“ She puts a heavy bag on the kitchen table. It's filled to the brim. Harry thinks he never saw so much food at the same time.  
Ron picks up a few logs and lights the stove. “I brought a friend, Mum. It's Harry.“ The woman nods at Harry and smiles broadly. “Hello, dear. Ron already told us about you. Why don't you join us for dinner?“ “I really don't want to bother you“, Harry says, but his mouth is already starting to water. “Oh, no, you don't“, the woman answers wholeheartedly. “We don't have much, but we have enough to share.“  
Harry really wonders how someone can be this friendly to someone they never met before. As far as he knows, Ron's family works hard. They are poor, but they still welcome him with open arms.  
The kitchen starts to fill as Ron's mother, Molly, is standing at the stove, cooking. Ginny, Ron's sister, a really sweet thing, puts up the plates. She's wearing two braids and a simple dress, she's as freckled as Ron and as friendly as her mother. Fred and George, the twins, look a little exhausted from work. They and Ron's father work at a glass factory called Goldstein's Glass. Percy, the oldest sibling in the house, works as a secretary for an horologist. At the dinner table, Ron tells his family that Harry has lost his home and Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “What about you live here for a while?“, Ron's Dad, Arthur, offers. “I hoped that would be possible“, Harry admits, “I can pay you a little, I have some money left.“  
And just like that, it's settled. The Weasleys move Ron into Percy's room, so that he can share with Harry. Harry thanks them all and earns sincere smiles. “It's really not a problem“, Molly says and Ginny nods and blushes a little.  
Ron doesn't bring Harry's story with Malfoy up in front of his family and Harry is thankful for that. They only discuss their plan when they are alone in their room and everybody else has gone to bed already.  
“We must do it tomorrow“, Ron mutters, “The quicker, the better.“ Harry nods. “But how are we going to do it?“  
Ron thinks for a while.  
“We shouldn't go to the father“, Harry says.  
“Why?“, Ron asks. “He could get us more stuff.“  
“Yes“, Harry admits, “But what if he kicks his son out after what we tell him and we don't get anything out of it?“ What Harry doesn't want to say is that he feels kinda bad for Malfoy’s son. For all he knows, Draco Malfoy is an ignorant bastard, but Harry is a good person. He doesn't want anyone to land on the streets. He knows how hard it is to survive there. But Malfoy Junior still has the possibility to live a normal life - if he fucks girls, too, he could go unnoticed. Have a family.  
“Okay, then we'll talk to the son“, Ron answers. “Put Malfoy junior under pressure. We threaten that we‘ll tell his father and the press that he's a fag if he doesn't help us.“ Harry nods. That sounds as if it could work out. “Tomorrow then?“, he asks Ron. “Yes, tomorrow“, Ron agrees.  
Harry closes his eyes, laying on a mattress on the ground. The house is still smelling of the potato soup Molly Weasley cooked, but Harry isn't even hungry anymore. He sighs happily and takes off his glasses. This feels more like a home than anything else he ever had. Even more than the orphanage. He liked it there, even though the guardians were unfriendly. He had a friend, Hermione. Sometimes Harry still misses her. He wonders were she is now.  
Soon, Ron‘s fast asleep, snoring. Not very loudly, though, it doesn't really bother Harry.  
He's a little nervous about the next day. What they are going to do is illegal, Harry knows that. But on the other hand, what Malfoy is doing, is illegal to. Going to prostitutes, and not just any prostitutes, but male ones. Harry swallows. Somehow, he admits to himself, Malfoy is brave for doing it - but also very stupid. He himself would never do something so dumb. Risk getting thrown into prison or worse, into an insane asylum for “abnormal activities“. Harry sighs. No, he would never do something alike. Or would he?  
The next morning is the best morning Harry had ever since he was a kid. He wakes up to the smell of eggs and bacon. Eggs and bacon! Why something so expensive?  
“Happy Easter“, Ron says and stretches. “To you, too“, Harry answers and smiles. So that is why they are having eggs and bacon! Easter!  
Harry gets dressed quickly and walks into the kitchen. “Happy Easter“, Molly greets him with a wide smile. “Sit down, Harry!“  
Harry sits down at the table with the red-haired Weasley family. He really looks like an outsider here with his raven curls, but that doesn't bother him at all. It feels like he has a real family.  
The eggs are delicious. Molly also serves jam and butter - Harry is in heaven. “Here you go“, Ginny says and passes him some water. “Thanks“, he answers and smiles at her.  
“Ginny, get ready for school!“, Arthur Weasley shouts from his room and his daughter quickly jumps up to collect some books from the ground. “I have an important exam today“, she explains.  
“What are you studying?“, Harry asks. “I'm going to a nursing school“, Ginny answers and bats her eyelids. “It is hard, but I'll make it.“ Fred, one of the twins, speaks up: “And whenever the teachers look away, she plays football with the boys.“ Ginny smacks her brother's forearm. Molly sighs. “Ginny, how many times do I have to tell you? You're a girl. You can't play football!“ “Watch me“, Ginny answers, stuffs the books into an old bag and kisses her mother goodbye.  
“She's going to be the death of me“, Molly moans when Ginny is gone. Then she claps her hands. “Quick, family. You need to get going!“  
Harry and Ron take of. They are a little late, which would have normally been a disaster, but today they don't mind. It is Easter and they aren't going to the factory anyways. Instead, they are walking towards Malfoy Manor.  
“Hope he is at home“, Ron comments. Harry hums. He can't imagine a young snobbish man getting up this early in the morning, let alone on Easter.  
It takes them a while, but in the end they reach the large building. Malfoy Manor is only a few years old, their owners are part of the “new rich“. It is surrounded by a massive garden with domesticated trees, some early flowers and well-trimmed grass. A dark-skinned gardener's cutting down some bushes.  
A high fence guards the manor. From a closed gate, a small path leads through the garden towards the building's door of cast iron.  
“Hey, nigger!“, Ron shouts at the gardener. He waves his hand and takes off his hat.  
The gardener looks their way and stops his labour. He's an ugly old man with gray hair and an exceptionally dark face, “What's it?“, he shouts.  
“We are delivering an important message to Malfoy Junior!“, Ron shouts. Harry is happy that his friend does the talking. He wouldn't know what to say.  
“The young Master isn't expecting any messages“, the gardener answers and comes nearer. He inspects the boys more closely. Harry and Ron aren't wearing their worker's aprons, but they still look poor and dirty.  
“I know“, Ron tries to convince the man. “But it is urgent.“ The gardener stretches out his hand. “Give the message to me and I'll bring it to the young Master. He wouldn‘t want proletarian folks in his vicinity.“  
Harry doesn't like the gardener's condescending tone. “The message is secret and for his ears only“, he tells him. “Tell him that and he can choose whether he wants to talk to us or not.“ Harry is sure that Malfoy would want to know what secret they have to tell him.  
“You wait here“, the gardener instructs them and shambles to the Manor.  
From behind the fence, Harry and Ron watch him vanish into the building. After about five minutes, the gardener is back. Draco Malfoy is following right behind, wearing a silken shirt and plaid trousers. It looks like he got dressed in a hurry.  
“That's the proletarians“, the gardener says loud enough for Harry and Ron to hear. “Shall I send them away, Master?“ “No, Kreacher“, Malfoy answers. “I'll handle them myself.“ The gardener bows and with one last nasty glance towards Harry and Ron, he walks away.  
Malfoy‘s standing on the other side of the fence and puts his hands into his pockets. “What do you have to tell me?“, he asks. “Speak!“  
Ron grins broadly at the arrogant tone of the blonde. “Oh, that's something you don't want us to say out loud here. I suggest you let us in.“  
Malfoy frowns. His eyes roam over Ron, then he recognizes him. “It's ginger from the factory.“ Then he looks at Harry.  
It looks like Malfoy is not quite sure whether he’s already seen him before. “Why are you not at work? You'll be kicked out if you don't show up.“  
Ron shakes his head. “Not after you hear what we have to tell you. Let us in.“  
Reluctantly, Malfoy takes out a key and unlocks the gate. He opens up and Ron walks in as if he owns the place. Harry grins at his friend. “Nice house“, Ron comments. “Even though I'd get a friendlier gardener.“ He plays with his hat and winks at Harry.  
Together, they follow Malfoy into the Manor. They walk through a large carpeted corridor. Harry marvels at the many portraits hanging on the walls and the many large doors with the silver doorknobs.  
It is big and beautiful, but it is also cold. Harry decides that he likes the burrow much better.  
Malfoy leads the way into a study room. A large window with curtains of green velvet is facing the garden, the walls are loaded with bookshelves, a small settee and an armchair are gathered around a coffee table.  
Harry has never seen a coffee table ever before. Why, he wonders, would people need a special table for coffee?  
Ron sits down on the settee and makes himself comfortable. Harry pushes up his square glasses and sinks into an armchair. Malfoy is still standing there, looking uncomfortable.  
“You're making everything dirty“, he finally comments. “Ginger, take your shoes off the table.“  
Ron doesn't even budge. “What about some beer?“, he asks. “Isn't that how guests should be treated?“  
“What about you tell me why you are here?“, Malfoy asks angrily. “What about you give me a reason to not let my servants beat the shit out of you?“  
Harry suppresses the strong urge to punch Malfoy in the face for that.  
“Look, Malfoy“, Ron says. Harry can tell that Ron's angry, too, even if he tries to stay cool. “You don't want us to be your enemies. It would be for the best if you didn't talk down to us like this.“  
“What do you want?“, Malfoy grumbles.  
Ron looks over to Harry quickly. Then he decides to go bold. “We want you to double our payment and give us two days off a week. We want you to pay for our flat and my sister's education.“  
Malfoy doesn't respond. He stars at Ron, then at Harry. Slowly, his lips twist upwards.  
He starts to laugh. The bloody git starts to wheeze like a madman, he gasps for air, shaking and roaring with laughter.  
Harry and Ron exchange a worried glance.  
“You what?“, Malfoy manages in between his laughter. “What?“  
When Malfoy has calmed down a little, he smirks condescendingly. “Pack of morons. Think you can just come to my house and make such ridiculous demands? You'll get nothing here.“  
Ron's face has gone white in anger. He gets to his feet and clenches his fists. “We know you're a fucking faggot, Malfoy.“  
Malfoy shuts up immediately. The color vanishes from his cheeks.  
He swallows. “Don't you dare insulting me like this.“  
Ron smiles humorlessly. “Double payment, two days off. Pay our rent and my sister's education. Or we will tell your father.“  
Malfoy nervously licks his lips. Serves him right, Harry thinks.  
“That's a blunt lie“, Malfoy tries. “And my father would never believe street scum like you.“  
Now Harry speaks up. “A lie?“, he repeats and raises an eyebrow. “I know an alley filled with men who can vouch for the opposite.“  
Finally, a spark of recognition lights up on Malfoy's face.  
“You“, he says angrily, not even trying to lie anymore. “You were there yourself!“ Harry shrugs. “By accident. And it is not as if someone cared if you told people about it.“  
“I'll simply have you two thrown into a cell“, Malfoy says dryly. Harry looks over to Ron nervously. What now?  
“That won't help you“, Ron lies. “We're not the only ones who know. There's a third person. Lock us away and you'll end up in jail with your name in the newspapers.“  
Once again, Harry is glad that Ron does most of the talking. He just said exactly the right thing to make Malfoy shut up.  
The pointy git doesn't know what to say. He raises his hands in desperation and tangles his fingers up in his own hair.  
Harry can see him mouth “Motherfucker“. He knows that they won.  
Malfoy kicks at the coffee table with his polished black leather shoes.  
“Fucking dirty prols“, he growls and stares at Harry, eyes filled with hatred. Harry pushes up his glasses.  
Ron has unclenched his fists and looks at ease again. “Our names are Ronald Bilius Weasley and Harry Potter, just so that you know who to pay. I'm sure you'll manage to do this without Daddy noticing, eh?“ Harry gets up, too.  
“We're coming back“, he says. “Today and Tomorrow we'll take our two days off for the week. If you didn't manage to fulfill our requests by the day after tomorrow, you know what happens.“  
“Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter“, Ron repeats. “Don't forget that.“ Then he opens the door to the hallway and Harry and he walk out of the manor unbothered.


	3. The Cloaked Men

Once they are out of the building, they break into a fit of laughter. “Oh man“, Harry laughs. “This is the boldest, most horrible and best thing I ever did!“  
Ron pats him on the back. “I'm just glad we managed this, mate.“ He grins. “I was bloody nervous.“  
“Me too“, Harry admits happily. He throws his fist into the air. “Fucking finally!“, he shouts. Then he laughs again.  
“Now we have a day off“, Ron smirks. “Can you imagine? A day off, Harry! We can do whatever we want to! For a whole day, no, for TWO whole days!“ He takes a decision. “Come, we'll visit Ginny at school and hit on some girls! Then we go buy some beer and lay down at Thames river and do nothing at all!“ He is absolutely thrilled at the thought of doing nothing at all. “We are so damn lucky that Malfoy's a fag! This is the best Easter ever!“  
The best damn Easter ever, yes. It is the absolute best, Harry thinks. He is blessed. He has a friend, something like a family and nothing to worry about. He closes his eyes and takes in the warm morning sun.  
That Dursley kicked him out was the best thing that had happened to Harry in his whole life.

They go to the nursing school to see Ron's little sister, but the nuns guiding the school won’t let them in. “The day I let two boys walk into a school for girls is the day Satan wins over God“, an old nun croaks, so Harry and Ron settle for throwing pebbles at the closed windows, hoping that Ginny would look down and notice them.  
Unfortunately, the bright sun soon vanishes behind a set of dark clouds and it starts to rain. The weather can not put them off their high spirits, but it makes them hide under a bridge to avoid getting too wet.  
Harry and Ron throw stones into the river and chat a little.  
“Oi, Harry“, Ron suddenly asks, “What happened to your parents?“  
Harry shrugs. “No idea. I grew up in an orphanage. All the guardians told me was that a peasant brought me there.“ Ron frowns. “And there were no friends or relatives that could adopt you?“ Harry shrugs again. “Nobody new where I came from, so I inherited nothing. All I had when I was a kid was a name and that ugly scar.“ He adjusts his square glasses. They were sliding down his nose again.  
“Scar?“, Ron asks, intrigued. “Where?“  
Without answering, Harry shoves his fringe out of his face and reveals the ugly, jagged line on his forehead.  
“Oh, damn“, Ron mumbles. “This looks bad.“  
Harry nods. “No idea where it comes from.“

Once the rain stops, Harry and Ron get out from under the bridge and walk towards the city center. Ron finds them a cozy pub called “Hog's head“ where they have lunch. An old man with a white beard and sparkling blue eyes serves them soup and they down it hungrily.  
In the afternoon, they walk to the market and Ron hits on a few girls. It doesn't really work out, but it is fun to watch, Harry amuses himself with telling Ron why those girls didn't deserve him and buys some pumpkin pasties from a market booth.  
Pumpkin pasties - Harry feels like a rich man. A rich man that doesn't have to pay rent anymore, he remembers, and grins.  
For the rest of the day, Harry and Ron do absolutely nothing. They just lie around in Ron's room and in Ron's kitchen, eyes mostly closed.  
The next day, they don't go to work, either. Of course they pretend to, just so that the family doesn't worry. But instead of going to the factory, they go for a walk.  
The day is beautiful and the birds are singing. The streets are busy and loud, carriages pulled by strong horses roll by, a kid runs past them, clutching a stolen wallet.  
Ron buys himself some new shoes with the money Harry gave the Weasleys for the bed. They are of brown leather, not too expensive, but better than everything else Ron owns. “They are awesome“, Ron exclaims and examines the shoes proudly.  
“Do you have any friends?“, Harry asks Ron while they walk past a factory. Its chimneys are spewing black smoke into the air and it stinks of bleach and dust.  
“Other than you?“, Ron asks. “Nah, I don't have time for friends. I have my family, that's enough. And one day my parents will marry me to some woman and I'll have a family of my own.“  
Harry puts his hands into his pockets. “Do you already know who you will marry?“ Ron shakes his head. “Probably some girl from another worker family, just like my brothers.“  
Guys with families have it easy, Harry thinks. People want to marry their daughters to men who are supported by a large family. It's way harder for orphan boys.  
Ron probably read Harry's expression. “Don't worry“, he exclaims, “You'll find something. You're a fine lad, Harry, and maybe you can impress some parents with what we get from Malfoy.“

And what they get from Malfoy is great. When Harry and Ron turn up for work the next day, no one kicks them out for not turning up for two days. The watchmen watch them carefully, but they were obviously instructed to leave them alone.  
Harry is impressed. Even in his worker's apron, with dirty hands, sweating from the physical labor, he feels like a king. He is loaded with energy from the two-day break and even after work, when he's usually sick and tired, Harry still smiles.  
When the workers all walk out of the factory, he notices them straightening their backs and raising their heads. When Harry walks through the gate, he finds out why.  
Malfoy Junior is standing there, watching the men walking out. When he sees Harry and Ron, his face hardens. “You two“, Malfoy calls. “Come with me!“  
They follow Malfoy back inside, into one of the offices. Today, Malfoy is wearing a dark gray waistcoat and brown shoes. Harry wonders how many clothes the spoiled brat possesses.

“I did everything you wanted“, Malfoy says darkly. “The watchmen are bribed into staying quiet if you miss only two days a week. Your sister Ginevra's and a handful of other girls' education is being paid under the pretext of a good cause. But if you want to have the money for your flat or your increased payment, you need to come to me personally. I don't trust anyone else to pay you two so much money without telling my father.“  
“Great“, Harry answers. “Then we'll have our first payment now.“  
Malfoy reaches into his pocket wordlessly. Then he produces a thick bundle of banknotes out of it and lets it fall onto the office table.  
Harry and Ron look at it, amazed.  
It was so easy.  
Ron reaches for it and pockets the money. Malfoy watches him maliciously. “And you will keep that secret to yourself. I want you to swear by god.“  
“I swear to god not to tell anyone that you're a fag as long as you pay us“, Ron fires at Malfoy. The blonde's jaw twitches and he briefly closes his eyes at the insult.  
“We'll keep your secret, Malfoy“, Harry adds in a milder tone.

“You are too nice to Malfoy“, Ron says accusingly as he and Harry walk out of the factory, richer than they ever were.  
“I don't particularly like that insult“, Harry says quietly. Ron furrows his eyebrows. “Fag? That's just what Malfoy is, no need to put lipstick on the pig.“  
“Yes“, Harry replies through clenched teeth. “I know that and I dislike Malfoy just as much as you. He's an asshole of the worst kind. And that we get some of his money is the fairest thing that has ever happened to me. I just really don't like that particular insult.“  
“Why?“, Ron asks. His eyebrows are still furrowed, his flat hat sliding into his face. “You don't like the word faggot? Are you -“ He musters Harry suspiciously. “You aren't - are you?“  
Harry's stomach hurts a little as he says: “Ron, calm down. All I want is a nice family, a wife and kids and to live my life in peace. Okay?“  
Ron is still watching Harry warily, but with less mistrust now. “Okay.“  
After a moment of awkward silence, he adds: “It's not as if I really thought you were. And you know, when I say that Malfoy is a fag, I mean that he's a really bad one, you know? Some assholeish, idiotic sissy-fag, not just a gay, yea? To be honest, I“, he lowers his voice so that no one can overhear what he is saying, “know someone who's gay, but not a faggot, okay? But this Malfoy, that one's a real fag.“  
Harry doesn't feel much better after this, but at least a little.  
“Not that being gay was good“, Ron hurries to say, and Harry feels bad again, “But it is still better that being a fag like Malfoy. Not that I was, in any way, gay!“ Ron suddenly looks shocked. “You don't think that I'm gay now, do you?“  
Harry almost laughs as he shakes his head. “No, not you, Ron. Never.“  
“Good“, Ron breathes out, relieved. “Oi, let's change the subject. This has become awkward.“

When Harry and Ron are having dinner with the Weasleys, Ron reaches into his pocket and pulls out the banknotes. The whole family goes quiet. Ron lays the bundle down on the kitchen table.  
“Mother of god“, Molly finally exclaims. “Ronald!“  
The rest of the family watches wide-eyed.  
“How did you - how much money is this?“  
“Enough to pay for this month's rent“, Ron answers, “and a little more. Some of it belongs to Harry, though.“  
Molly's eyes start to water. “Oh boys. What did you have to do to get this?“  
Harry quickly shakes his head a little, enough for Ron to notice. Fortunately, his friend understands him.  
“We can't tell you, Mum, I'm so sorry. But don't worry, it's not dangerous.“ Molly obviously worries nonetheless, but she doesn't say it. She hugs the money to her chest and laughs, relieved. Soon the whole family's grinning. “Hey, whatever this is, Ron“, George, one of the twins, says to his brother, “We'll help you out if you get into trouble.“, finishes Fred.  
“Since you came, things are improving here, Harry“, Ginny chimes up and smiles a little. She is awfully cute, Harry thinks. “Guess what they told me at school? I and a few other girls from working class families were picked by the Malfoy family yesterday. They now pay our full education, I guess they are trying to gain the workers' favor.“ Arthur pats his daughter on the back and smiles proudly. “That's amazing!“, Harry says and fakes surprise.  
Ginny smiles a pretty smile at him and somehow Harry feels a little guilty, he doesn't really know why.

This night, Harry doesn't sleep well. There are people on the streets, shouting atrocities and making loud noises. He wakes up for good when he hears the sound of shattering glass. He jumps to his feet and looks out of the window.  
A group of men dressed in black cloaks have thrown a stone into a neighboring building. Someone is screaming inside, it sounds like something is breaking.  
Ron's woken up, too. “What is this?“, he yawns. “No idea“, Harry whispers back. “People vandalizing.“ Ron gets up and looks out of the window, too. They watch one of the cloaked figures pulling out a woman by her hair. “We have to help them!“, he says, alarmed, but then Harry hears something. The cloaked man is shouting something. “Harry Potter! Are you hiding him? Where is he?!“  
Harry's eyes go wide. They are looking for him? No, impossible. No one knows him.  
“There's no Harry Potter here!“, the woman screams in terror. “Let go! Please, I have kids!“, Fortunately, the man lets the woman go. Harry tries to catch a glimpse of his face, but he is wearing a hood, just like the others.  
“They aren't even the Weasleys“, one says. “Must have moved. Filthy pack, probably couldn't afford this house anymore.“  
They all turn around and walk away. The scared woman hurries back into the tenement.  
“Harry“, Ron whispers. “We used to live in that building. We moved just half a year ago because we needed less rooms with Charlie and Bill gone.“  
Harry swallows.  
What is going on?

The next morning, on their way to work, Harry and Ron talk about last night. This has to do with Malfoy, they are sure. Only he knows that they hang out together. “Is it possible that no one knows about your new address yet?“, Harry asks Ron and the ginger boy nods. “Means that Malfoy sent these people, probably to kill us. But they didn't find us.“  
“Must be“, Ron thinks. “We need to do something about it. Scare Malfoy, maybe.“ Harry nods. “Do you think we're safe in the factory?“  
“I think so“, Ron says. “Malfoy wouldn't dare attacking anyone of us when there are so many others around. We'll go scare him right after work.“ Then he laughs a little. “But you know what? If the factory really has our old address, that means that Malfoy's paying us more. The old flat was more expensive.“ Harry grins a little.  
He is still nervous. If Malfoy is trying to get Ron and him killed, then why did the cloaked men ask only for him and not for them both?

After work, Ginny is waiting in front of the gates of the factory. She approaches Harry and Ron, looking worried. “Dad's sick“, she explains. “I need you to come with me to pick up some medicine. Mum doesn't want me to go alone.“  
There goes our plan to go frighten Malfoy together, Harry thinks. Ron looks reluctant. “Good, I'll come with you“, he says to his little sister. “Harry, you know what to do.“  
“What?“, is all that Harry manages before Ron's being dragged off by his sister.  
Oh great. Now he has to do this alone.  
Harry sighs and pushes up his square glasses once again. Scare Malfoy? He doesn't want to do this now, he is quite tired from work, and he's alone. But Harry fears that if he doesn't do it, Malfoy will send out the cloaked men again and yesterday they really looked like they could actually kill someone.

It is already dark when Harry arrives at the manor. Kreacher, the black gardener, is strangely still working. But considering that the garden around the manor is so big, Harry supposes that there is really always something to do.  
“Hey“, Harry shouts through the iron bars of the gate. “Kreacher, let me in!“  
The old gardener shuffles towards the fence and inspects Harry with gleaming little eyes. “I shall call the young Master, he will decide whether you may enter.“ Then he vanishes into the manor.  
It is cold and dark. Harry prays to god that Malfoy doesn't send out someone to kill him.  
But he is lucky. With a lantern in his hand and the key in the other, Malfoy comes to the gate. He looks tired and angry. “What do you want, Potter?“, he spits. Harry starts to shiver. It really is cold tonight. “Let me in, Malfoy“, he demands.  
Scare Malfoy, scare him. How is Harry supposed to scare him? He‘s no good at threatening people, Harry thinks while Malfoy opens the gate.  
They don't walk to the main entrance this time. “My father and my mother are at home“, Malfoy explains. “We will take the servant's entrance.“  
They walk around the corner. Behind a large bush, there is a small hidden door. Malfoy opens it - it was unlocked.  
They enter a small and dimly lit corridor. Scare Malfoy now? Jump him now? Harry thinks. But he is too afraid that Malfoy could scream. His shouts could echo through the manor and they would find Harry.  
“Where are we going?“, Harry asks. He suddenly becomes aware that not only he could jump Malfoy now, but Malfoy could also turn around and hold a knife to Harry's throat. “If something happens to me, Ron will tell the papers everything“, he adds quickly. “I'm quite aware of that, Potter“, Malfoy says. “I'm not retarded. I'm just leading you to my chambers. There you can blackmail me without anyone listening.“ Harry says nothing to that.

They walk for quite a while and Harry starts to wonder how big exactly the manor is, when Malfoy takes a staircase upwards. He stops in front of what looks like a wall. When Harry wonders where the path goes on, Malfoy pushes against the wall and it swings aside.  
The dark corridor leads into a candle-lit chamber. Malfoy waits for Harry to get into the room.  
When Harry turns around, he sees where he just came from. What he thought to be a wall, was actually the backside of a large painting of a fat lady dressed in pink. They came through a secret passageway.  
Malfoy pushes the portrait back in its original place. It hides the hallway perfectly.  
Harry takes his time to look around in the room. Private chambers, that's what Malfoy said, eh? Harry snorts. A piano, of course. Of course rich kids need expensive pianos in their private chambers.  
“So, what are you here for?“, Malfoy asks and puts down the lantern on his desk. For the lack of a better idea, Harry decides to just tell him.  
“I want you to call back your assassins. Know that I'll do anything to protect Ron and the Weasleys. That is a warning.“  
For a moment, Malfoy's face twists and he looks genuinely confused. “Assassins?“  
Harry is perplexed. No, of course the assassins have to do with Malfoy. There is no way that they don't. “Yes, your assassins. The cloaked men. Play confused as much as you want.“ He takes a menacing step towards him. Scare Malfoy, he thinks, scare him.  
Malfoy stays put, but Harry sees that he struggles not to cower away. “I didn't send anyone, Potter. I don't want my name all over the papers.“ Harry takes another step. He is not taller than Malfoy, but he sure as hell is stronger.  
Harry grabs Malfoy's wrist and makes sure to make it painful. “Why would I believe a snake like you? Give me one good reason to believe that they are not your men.“  
“Well obviously“, Malfoy says but his hand is shaking, “going after you two is useless if there still is someone else who knows.“ Oh right, Harry remembers. Ron told Malfoy that there was a third person involved. Malfoy was right - it wouldn't make sense for him to try killing them. “Your secret would still be revealed“, Harry says. He lets go of Malfoy's wrist to push up his glasses. Malfoy rubs his hurting wrist with his other hand.  
“But then I don't understand - who wants me dead?“, Harry marvels. He didn't do anything to anyone. Well, there are some people he never paid rent to, Dursley is only one of them, but Harry doesn't think that they would kill him just because of that.  
“What do I know“, Malfoy snaps. “I don't have anything to do with this. Was that it? I have better to do than talking with someone of your kind.“ Harry fixes Malfoy with angry eyes and fury in his stomach. He can't stand people who think that they are something better. “Watch your mouth, rich boy, or the press will know everything very soon.“ Malfoy sneers. “I don't want my name all over the paper, but you don't want my name there either, Potter. As soon as that happens, I'll stop paying you and your loser friends. So take my money and stop pretending.“  
“You stop bitching around, faggot!“, bursts out of Harry. He didn't really mean to say it, it just happened. “You don't seem to mind too much that I am one“, Malfoy says coldly and Harry suddenly notices that he is still standing way too close to him. “Fuck you“, he says without thinking and fails to deny it. Harry takes a step back.  
“No, fuck you and your double moral“, Malfoy answers and takes a step towards him. “You are one, too, and you know it. I know it, I can see it in your eyes.“  
Then Malfoy's soft lips are on Harry's again.  
Malfoy's hand touches Harry's chin.  
Harry's fist collides with Malfoy's cheekbone.  
Malfoy stumbles backwards, cursing. Harry uses the back of his hands to wipe his lips. “I may want to fuck guys, but do you know what I think about you?“ Harry watches as Malfoy gets back up, cupping his cheek. “That you are disgusting.“  
Harry walks to the portrait of the fat lady and pushes it aside. “Just keep paying, Malfoy“, he adds and walks out of the manor.


	4. Harry Potter

“How did it go?“, Ron asks his friend once Harry's back in the burrow. His family is fast asleep, the medicine Ginny and he bought together is still standing on the kitchen table.  
“It wasn't him“, Harry tells Ron. “How is your dad?“ “Could be better“, Ron answers. “What are you saying? It wasn't Malfoy to send them after us?“ Harry shakes his head.  
“But then, who was it?“  
“No idea“, Harry sighs. “I just really hope that they won't find us.“ “So do I.“ Ron shudders. “They looked bloody dangerous.“  
They walk into Ron's room and close the door behind them. Ron starts to undress.  
“Malfoy kissed me. Again.“, Harry says. “Ew!“, Ron exclaims. “Hope you punched him hard for that!“ “I actually did“, Harry grins. “Why did he do it, though?“, Ron asks. Harry shrugs his shoulders derogatorily. “Because he is a slimy, cocky cockroach“, he says.  
“A faggot“, Ron says and Harry sighs. He crawls under his covers, puts the glasses away and falls asleep.

In the morning, Harry sees how bad Arthur Weasley's doing. He is coughing and sweating, his forehead is burning and there are weird red spots on his neck.  
“What is it?“, Harry asks. “We don't know“, Molly Weasley says sadly. “The doctor is so expensive. We thought that we should just give him some regular medicine and wait for a few days. Maybe it will pass.“ Arthur moans a little, unable to say something. Harry bites his tongue.  
“What about Ron's money?“, he asks. “The one he brought. He has got twice the amount of what he usually gets on payday. Is that not enough for the doctor?“ Molly covers her eyes. Harry is confused.  
“We already used the money to pay back old debts“, Percy explains. “Now we're nearly debt - free, but we still need money for food this month.“ Wordlessly, Harry goes to Ron's room and comes back with his own money. He puts it onto the kitchen table.  
“Oh kid“, Molly speaks up. Tears are running down her cheeks. “It is yours, we can't accept it.“  
“If it wasn't for Ron, I wouldn't even have the money“, Harry states. “He had the idea of how to get it. Consider this the payment for that.“  
Finally, Molly accepts the money. Harry is glad - he would have felt awful if he'd kept it when the Weasleys needed it so urgently. He goes to work as always, in the evening he is so tired that he goes straight to bed without talking to anyone.

The doctor does a good job, but now they need different medicine. Medicine is expensive. “We need to get more money out of Malfoy“, Ron says and Harry sighs.  
“Hey, I don't like it either“, Ron exclaims, “but this is about my dad! If he doesn't feel better in a few days, your money will be used up and we need more!“  
Harry really, really doesn't want to talk to Malfoy again. He wishes he would never need to see the git again in his whole life. Knowing that Malfoy exists is already too much.  
But when the few days have passed and Arthur isn't on his way to recovery, Harry accepts that they need to find money. If Ron's dad doesn't get better, he can't work anymore. That could become a serious problem.  
Harry and Ron use their first day off to look for other possibilities to make money. Ron promised Harry that they'd at least try to get it legally instead of going back to Malfoy.  
Harry's in the park asking rich-looking passersby if they need something taken care of, basically offering to do due housework or repairs, when he finds a newspaper on a bench. It is from yesterday, someone spilled a drink over it. The headline catches Harry's eye immediately.  
“Who is Harry Potter?“, is written on it. Underneath there’s a picture of his old flat with the name “Harry Potter“ smeared on the facade. Harry hurries to read the article.

_For the second time this week, the mysterious name has appeared in London, written on the facade of a building in what appears to be human blood. The police are in high alert – inspector Shacklebolt is desperately searching for clues about Harry Potter‘s identity and whereabouts. The houses‘ residents, ordinary workers and worker families, remember the said Harry Potter to be a young worker man who used to live in both the buildings. This indicates strongly that the writing in blood is meant to be a warning for said individual – Harry Potter is hereby asked to turn himself in at the police station to help find his predators. His full safety is guaranteed._

Harry stares at the article in disbelief. This is not possible. He didn‘t even know that this happened, twice already in just one week, both times in places where he used to live. Harry‘s trembling. First the hooded figures, now his name written in blood. There he thought that his life was finally changing for the better – now this.

He’s suddenly very glad that only a few people know him by his name. He only talked to few coworkers, but never long enough that he bothered to properly introduce himself. The watchmen only know his last name and he isn‘ t the only Potter around by far.

The Weasleys know his name, and so do his past landlords. But the latter don‘t know where he lives now. Two weeks ago, Harry would have considered going to the police if something strange happened, but now he‘s involved in an illegal business himself. Additionally, going to the police could mean needing to stay at the police station for more than just two days. Harry doesn‘t want to lose his job.

He takes the newspaper, rips out the article and pockets it. He needs to show Ron. But his freckly ginger friend is talking to an elderly couple, trying to convince them that he‘s well able to repair a leaking water pipe. In the end, they decide to take Ron with them and he waves goodbye to Harry. Harry‘s left alone in the park, standing under the rustling trees and the gray sky. It‘s suddenly become very cold.

Then, a thought crosses Harry‘ s mind. Who could know where he’d lived in the past years? He always passed the information on to the factory, in case anything happened.

Malfoy would have access to all that information, yet he swears that he has nothing to do with it. Now Harry really needs to talk to the asshole again, he needs information – and he needs more money.

Harry doesn‘ t know what rich kids do at that time of the day, but since it looks like it’s going to rain, he has good chances of finding Malfoy at home again. The first heavy drops are falling as Harry makes his way through London, they fall quicker and quicker and soon he finds himself in a proper thunderstorm. He‘ s freezing and shaking under the pouring rain, running towards Malfoy Manor as fast as his feet carry him.

Kreacher's nowhere to be seen, so he has to find another way of getting in. Shouting won‘t do, nobody will hear him in thunder and rain. Harry wishes he had Ron‘s hat to protect his glasses from the rain – they‘re wet, slippery and full with drops, he nearly can‘t see a thing.

Harry decides to try climb the fence. It‘ s high, but he‘s strong and agile. Gripping the iron bars tightly, he pulls himself upwards – it‘s working! It‘s hard, but he manages to pull himself to the top.

The iron bars are pointed like spears, and Harry needs to watch where he puts his feet. When he jumps down on the other side, his shirt gets tangled up and rips in half. The glasses go flying off his face, Harry doesn‘t see where they land.

He gets on his knees and searches them in the mud, but without success. The glasses are gone. He inspects the torn fabric of his shirt with squinted eyes, then shrugs it off. He runs around the Manor’s corner and finds the servants’ entrance unlocked.

Harry’s soon standing in the dark hallway, dripping water and dirt. In an attempt of cleaning up just a little, he wipes his muddy hands on his trousers and takes a few steps further into the Manor.

Did they take the first or the second turn of the corridor when they were here last time? It‘s been a while and Harry doesn’t really remember. The fact that he doesn’t see much isn’t helping, either. He just walks into a random direction. „I’m completely lost“, he thinks, when he suddenly recognizes a staircase. Harry thanks whatever angel is watching him and walks up the stairs that lead to Malfoy’s chambers. He pushes the portrait that looks like a wall aside, and enters Malfoy’s study- or living room, whatever it is.

He squints his eyes again. Malfoy isn‘t around. Dammit, Harry thinks. Has the git gone for a walk in the middle of the thunderstorm? However, he wouldn‘t have needed to worry. A door creaks open, the blonde boy himself walks into the room.

Harry isn‘ t sure of it, but he thinks Malfoy jumps a little when he notices someone standing in the middle of his chamber.

„Potter“, the familiar voice states dryly. „You‘ re dripping. It‘s ruining the carpet. You‘re dirty all over. Where even are your glasses?“

Harry squints his eyes and takes a few steps forward to be able to see Malfoy more properly. He leaves muddy footprints on the soft yellow carpet. Malfoy frowns. „I lost them“, Harry explains.

„And let me guess, you thought you should simply come here and ask for a new pair“, Malfoy speaks and walks over to a drawer, „now that you have a donor.“ He opens it and searches around.

„Actually, no“, Harry says when Malfoy produces something from the drawer. The other man stretches out his arm and Harry takes whatever is being offered to him.

It‘ s a new pair of glasses. They look expensive – and as if no one ever wore them before. The round glasses don‘ t even have one single scratch. Harry tries them on. He sees perfectly.

Why did Malfoy give them to him? He looks over to the boy, who’s watching him attentively. It‘s creepy, but Harry doesn‘t object. He‘s just been gifted some new glasses.

„They were supposed to be a gift for mother“, Malfoy offers. „Reading glasses. But she already bought some herself.“

Why the sudden friendliness? Harry, suspicious, keeps a close eye on Malfoy. There’s a faint bruise on his left cheek, he notices, from where Harry hit him last time.

He sits down in the heavy armchair with his drenched and dirty clothes, just to make Malfoy flinch. As if his family couldn't afford a new one. As if just wiping it off later wouldn‘t do.

„I’m here for information“, Harry says, „It‘ s about the factory.“

Malfoy nods. „I didn‘t bother to find out much about it yet. We have lots of them. Yours is by far not the most interesting one.“ Harry starts to wonder if Malfoy is so condescending on purpose or if it comes so second nature to him that he doesn‘t even notice. „I‘ll ask you anyways. Who has access to the worker’s files?“

Malfoy wrinkles his nose. „What do I know? One or two secretaries, probably. My father and I, obviously.“ Harry already suspected so much. „And you never took a look at my file“, he asks. Malfoy laughs. „Why would I be interested in your file?“

„You keep record of where your workers live, right?“

Realization dawns on Malfoy’s face and he clicks his tongue with a cocky grin. Harry wants to wipe it off his face with a nice punch. „The newspaper articles, right. Your name written in blood. You think they know where you lived because they looked at your files. So, am I still the primary suspect, now?“

Instead of answering, Harry asks: „Did you read the articles?“

„I hoped they’d kill you.“ Malfoy has sat himself down on the piano stool. He looks like he means what he just said.

„You don’t know who they are, do you?“, Harry asks and Malfoy shakes his blond head. His hair looks nice today, Harry notices. Malfoy doesn‘ t deserve such nice hair.

„I need more money“, Harry says.

Malfoy's face goes dark again. “We already have an agreement. You can't simply ask for more if you feel like it.“  
“Ron's father is sick“, Harry explains. “He needs medicine and he needs it urgently. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary.“  
Malfoy gets up from the stool and walks over to the large painting. He pushes it back so that it covers the hidden passageway. Then he stops next to the armchair Harry's sitting in. “And what do I get out of that?“  
Harry furrows his eyebrows and tries to push up his new glasses, but they didn't slide down his nose at all. “Your secret is safe.“  
Malfoy sneers. “Not even remotely good enough. You won't tell on me, even if I don't give you the money, because I'm paying you what we agreed on.“  
Harry knows Malfoy is right. He won't tell anyone if he doesn't get the additional money.  
“I'll work for it“, Harry offers. “We still have the whole afternoon left.“  
Malfoy pretends to think about it. There's strange gleam in his eyes that Harry doesn't like.  
“Work? Well, let’s see“, Malfoy leers. “I‘ll give you a task.“  
Harry watches Malfoy in mistrust. The man takes off his vest and puts it on top of the piano.  
“How old are you, Potter?“  
Harry doesn't like the question. “Sixteen, I think. Maybe seventeen. I lost track of the years.“ Malfoy nods, satisfied. “I'm eighteen myself.“  
“What do you want, Malfoy?“, Harry bursts out. He earns an annoyed look. “Want the money? Play along, Potter.“  
Harry swallows his pride. Maybe Malfoy wants to ridicule him, to flaunt his power and privilege. He could endure that. Harry is used to enduring assholes.  
Then, Malfoy smiles sweetly. Harry could puke. Suddenly, in his head, he hears the man saying “You are my favorite pussy“ again. He already nearly forgot about that. He wonders why he remembers it at all.  
“Why don't I give you some dry clothes?“, Malfoy speaks out loud. “You're going to work here for a while, after all. I don't want you to make more of a mess than you already did.“ Malfoy vanishes through the door he came from and leaves Harry alone.  
He could run now. It would probably be for the best. He knows what he wanted to and there is no way Harry wants to participate in whatever sick game Malfoy is trying to play now.  
It is just... the money. Arthur is sick and he needs it. Harry owes the Weasleys.  
Malfoy comes back, a pile of clothes in his hands. “Here“, he says and tosses them over. Harry almost expects that Malfoy would watch him getting changed, but the boy turns his back to him and sits down in front of the desk, takes a quill and starts to write something.  
Harry shakes his head and slips into the silken shirt. He recognizes it as the one Malfoy wore when he and Ron payed him a first visit.  
The trousers are nice, too, they fit well enough. Harry is happy to get out of his wet socks and into dry ones.  
“Done“, he says.  
Malfoy turns around and his eyes roam over Harry's body. “Almost acceptable“, he remarks and Harry bites back a snark comment. “What now?“, he asks instead.  
“Hmm“, Malfoy hums and stretches. “I'm quite tense, I could do with a massage.“ He sprawls out on the couch and turns onto his belly. “Yes, you heard me right“, he says when Harry doesn't react. “My back is aching. This is not hard work, is it?“  
Harry rolls his eyes but walks over. But he swears, the moment Malfoy tries to pull something funny, Harry will punch him again, steal the money and run.  
He takes the piano stool and puts it next to Malfoy on the couch. That way he can sit on it and reach over. It‘s not really comfortable, but okay.  
He touches Malfoy's neck hesitantly and Malfoy sighs. “You need to apply pressure in order to loosen the muscles“, he commands.  
Harry obliges. He never gave a massage before, but he tries to. He puts one hand on either side of Malfoys neck. He could choke him now, Harry thinks. Instead he presses down gently and works Malfoy's back in small circles.  
After a while he moves over to the shoulder blades. He rubs his circles there, feeling that the muscles really are tense. Malfoy wasn't lying.  
Harry presses down a little harder on the tense spot and a groan escapes Malfoy's mouth. This is fun, Harry realizes. He can torture the git a little without him complaining.  
He does it again and Malfoy moans. “Watch it, Potter. This hurts.“  
“Sorry“, Harry answers without meaning it. “Needs to hurt in order to work.“  
The position he's in is not really comfortable. Harry pushes his stool nearer to Malfoy.  
He puts his full weight on his flat palms and presses them on Malfoy's upper back, next to his spine. Malfoy moans softly and Harry involuntarily licks his lips. He suddenly finds himself compelled to continue the massage just a little lower.  
He works Malfoy's back more closely to his midst, leaving the shoulders. It feels nice, Harry's stomach tingles a little. Malfoy's shirt is slowly starting to frustrate him. Aren't proper massages done without a shirt? It gets in the way, the fabric‘s too stiff.  
But when Harry's hands reach Malfoy's lower back, the git has the nerve to say: “Stop there“.  
“Why?“, Harry asks, trying not to let on his frustration.  
“I'm not tense there“, Malfoy claims. “Go back to the shoulders.“ Harry obeys. He works hard to draw little moans and some pained shouts out of Malfoy. Then he says what he's thinking.  
“The shirt's in the way.“  
Malfoy sits up and starts to unbutton it. Harry tries to watch and not to watch at the same time, feeling drops of guilt in his stomach. If he doesn‘t like Malfoy, he shouldn‘t like this either.  
Malfoy removes the shirt and lies back down, face in a cushion. Harry hungrily roams his eyes over the naked back and lays his hands on Malfoy's shoulder. This is bad, he thinks, but he doesn‘t want it to end.  
He starts massaging again and the moans that he earns when he pushes into the tense muscle are unholy. Soon Harry realizes that he's hard.  
He prays that Malfoy doesn't look up now. He begs that he doesn't see how hard Harry is from just touching Malfoy's shoulders, neck and upper back.  
The boy on the couch shifts his hips a little and a thought crosses Harry's mind. Is he hard, too? Does Malfoy imagine being pushed into the pillows by Harry's body?  
„Potter?“, Malfoy suddenly rasps.“What?“, Harry breathes.  
Malfoy turns his face around, mouth slightly open, eyes sparkling. Suddenly, he looks so innocent – happy, even. „If I‘d tell you how this is making me feel, you‘d probably punch me again“, he whispers.“ Yes, Harry thinks, he should punch Malfoy again, he should run before it is too late. But he just can‘t. Instead, he brings up one hand and carefully messes through Malfoy‘s hair. It‘s really as soft as it looks like. Malfoy turns his head a bit more, now Harry‘s fingers are on his lips, Malfoy opens them just the slightest bit and touches the fingers with his tongue -

„Would you do something else for me, Harry?“ Harry would do anything, everything, even against his better knowledge. He nods wordlessly. „You‘re working for me, you‘re doing anything I want, right?“, Malfoy asks shyly and Harry just brushes his fingers over Malfoy‘s lips in response.  
„Then I want you to have me.“ Malfoy turns around fully and Harry just can‘t resist the glorious naked torso. He needs to touch it, he needs to suck on Malfoy‘s white neck. There are touches, there‘s nakedness, soon Harry's skin‘s bare, too, there are thrusts and moans and kisses and it feels like _heaven_. It feels like love.

When it‘s over, Harry‘s leaning back on the couch, panting, sweating, but most importantly, smiling broadly at Malfoy on the other end of the settee. He‘s ecstatic.  
“Do you remember the first time we met?“, Malfoy suddenly asks.  
Harry nods.  
“It was in that alley, you had fallen asleep on the stairs.“ That was actually the third time they met, Harry thinks, but doesn't want to correct Malfoy. “It was a whore's street“, he just grins.  
“I wanted to buy you“, Malfoy says, “and fuck you three ways into tomorrow.“  
Harry laughs.  
“You didn't let me, but in the end I got you“, Malfoy smirks. Harry stops laughing. He doesn't like this cocky tone coming back into his companion‘s voice.  
“I admit, it was a little work. I needed to get you interested first. I let you touch me, waited for you to get hard. But in the end I really did what I wanted from the beginning. I paid you for a fuck. I made you my bitch.“  
Harry scrambles off of the couch and stars down at Malfoy in disbelief. The boy has the nerve to reach for a drawer next to the couch and take money out of it. Harry stands and watches, as Malfoy counts the bills calmly and then throws them on the ground before him. “Here you go. Should be enough for the medicine. If you ever need something, you can of course come back fore more.“  
Harry's head goes red. “Fuck you a million times!“, he shouts and Malfoy only looks more pleased. “I can afford everything and everyone.“, he whispers. Harry quickly gets into the fresh clothes and takes the money and his wet pants from the floor. “You are an insufferable, disgusting swine!“, Harry shouts before slamming the portrait aside and running away through the secret hallway. He‘s cheeks are burning with shame. He can‘t believe it. This really is the true face of Draco Malfoy.

The worst thing is that Malfoy is right. He payed Harry and Harry did exactly what Malfoy demanded. He wasn't opposed to it, but still.  
Malfoy made him his bitch.  
Harry feels manipulated. It was his first time and he was manipulated into it. It isn't right.  
The rain has stopped and Harry's running over the dirty grass of Malfoy manor. He prays that Kreacher isn't around and that the Malfoys don't look out of their windows.  
Harry quickly looks around if he can find his old glasses, but he doesn't. He grabs the iron bars of the fence again and proceeds to pull himself over.  
Once he jumps down on the other side, he hears a shouted “Hey!“ and spots Kreacher coming around a corner. He runs away as fast as his feet carry him.

The beautiful silken shirt with its fresh white stains lands in a bin on the street. It's nearly a pity, it really was a good shirt, but Harry really doesn't want to keep it. He doesn't throw away the trousers immediately, but once he comes to the burrow, he thinks, he'll get changed and then get rid of them. Harry clenches his jaw in anger - he thinks that he never hated Malfoy and his money more in his life.  
Ron isn't back home yet, he's still out working for extra money. Ginny is there and her eyes go wide as she sees shirtless Harry stumbling into the Burrow's kitchen.  
“Don't look if you are put off“, Harry grumbles and gets into Ron's room. He slams the door shut.  
Harry's own trousers are still wet and dirty. Luckily, he has a second pair he can change into.  
The shirt he was wearing in the rain ripped, and there is no second one. He screams in frustration and punches the wall twice, three times, four times, before his knuckles start to hurt and he stops.  
There is a faint knock on the bedroom door. “What?“, Harry shouts rudely.  
The door opens and Ginny looks inside. Before Harry can tell her to get the fuck out, she stretches out her hands with a clean shirt. “Thought you might need this, Harry.“  
He accepts it and Ginny's eyes fall onto Harry's knuckles. “You're bleeding“, she states. Then she looks up at Harry's face, where the new glasses sit. Luckily, she doesn't comment on it.  
“I got your dad some money“, Harry tells Ginny, disgusted with himself, and hands her the cash. The sooner it is gone, the better. The money is dirty to him, it makes his stomach revolt.  
“Thanks“, Ginny says quietly. She watches Harry for a while, then says: “You know, it's not your task to help dad. I'm pretty sure I don't want to know how you got the money. I'll take it now because we really need it, but don't give us more, understood? This is a Weasley thing, we will help dad. We always managed. We prefer legal money.“  
Harry doesn't know what to say to that, so he just nods. Ginny turns around and, with flying braids, leaves the room.


	5. The boy who lived

When Ron finds out that Harry already has the money, he is a little mad. He worked on his free day because Harry didn't want to go to Malfoy, but in the end of the day he still did it. “You should have taken me with you“, he complains. Harry really should have. Things would have turned out differently. “I needed some information concerning the factory.“ Harry shows Ron the newspaper article he found in the morning. “Did you know this?“ As Ron reads, his eyes go wide. “Bloody hell. What is this?“  
“I don't know either.“  
With furrowed eyebrows, Ron looks at the picture in the newspaper. “And what did you ask Malfoy?“ “Somehow, they know where I lived“, Harry explains, “and the factories keep track of our residences.“ Nodding, Ron returns the article. “Yeah, and this only started since the Malfoys own the factory, am I right?“  
Harry nods. “I asked him who has got access to the worker files. It's actually just the owners and one or two secretaries.“  
“Then I am sure that Malfoy has something to do with it!“ But Harry knows better. “No, he doesn't.“  
There is a moment of silence. It has started to rain again, small drops are running down the window.  
Tomorrow they have another free day, which is incredible - but still, Harry can't enjoy the thought of it. After dinner, he goes to bed, but has no chance of falling asleep. There are scabs on his hurting knuckles now and Harry's thoughts wander. The thing that happened today, he hates it. He wishes with all his heart that it had never happened. Maybe, he dreams, someday, he and Ron find a way of surviving without having to take Malfoy's disgusting money. Maybe they can build something of their own, in front of his inner eye Harry sees a factory with the writing “Weasley&Potter“ on the fence. With workers that get free days and a lunch break that is long enough to actually eat a proper meal.  
He falls asleep thinking that Ron was right. Harry might be gay, but Malfoy is a faggot. 

The next day, Molly notices the new glasses and Harry answers truthfully that he lost his old ones. What he doesn't mention it that they were the first step of Malfoy's plan to make Harry agree on doing him a favor. A gift, apparently made out of pure charity to seem friendly. How stupid Harry was.  
Ginny skips school when she finds out that Ron and Harry take a day off. Instead of going to the nuns, she brings the boys to a park. Ginny vanishes behind some bushes and emerges again with a big smile and a leather ball in her hand. “Football!“, she exclaims.  
They play together on the wet grass of the park, laughing and not caring about anyone else. Ginny earns a few dark looks and someone scolds her for acting like a boy, but she doesn't care. For the first time it strikes Harry that Ginny is not just pretty, but actually really cool.  
Harry likes football a lot. There's something liberating about running through the park, kicking a ball and thinking of nothing else. This way, he can forget that terrible shit he‘s been through. It is Ron's turn to be the goalkeeper of their improvised goal, the space between one lamp post and the other. Harry comes running towards him with the ball, aims and sends it soaring through the air.  
Ron jumps, but misses to catch it. Harry laughs. “You're good!“, Ginny tells him, grinning, “but bet that I'm better?“ Harry grins back. “You're on, Weasley.“  
Harry finally beats Ginny at football, but only because he runs faster than her. She's got a better technique as she obviously plays more often than him.  
Kids that are allowed to go to school have it much better, Harry thinks. They have free time and usually families that provide for them. He envies Ginny a little for her privilege, but he's also happy for her.  
When they are exhausted and sweating, the friends hide the football again and go down to Thames to take off their shoes and hold their feet into the cold water. Harry learns that the Weasleys didn't always live in London. They came from Wales, right after Ron was born, to try their luck and invested a lot into a company that sold brooms. Unfortunately, the factory burned down and they had to start from scratch.  
“What happened to your parents?“, Ginny asks after a while.  
“They died, don't bug him“, Ron answers for of Harry, but the latter doesn't mind Ron's little sister asking. “I wasn't told, I don't think that my guardians knew. But I think that it has got something to do with my scar.“ Once again he brushes back his black fringe to reveal the ugly, jagged line on his forehead. Ginny steps closer and examines it carefully. “This is weird“, she mumbles. Harry shrugs.  
“It somehow looks like a knife slipped on your forehead, you know?“, Ginny proceeds and trails her finger down the scar. “The line is too small to come from an impact, it must have been something sharp.“  
“I - don't know“, Harry stammers. He often wondered how he got a scar that kinda looked like a lightning bolt, but he always assumed that it was an incident. “Are you quite sure?“  
“Pretty“, Ginny answers. “We learn about injuries and scarring at nursing school.“  
Harry is dumbfound. Unable to say something, he just blinks a few times.  
Ron, who was watching Harry and Ginny intently, pulls his legs out of the river and sits back a little. “Maybe you'll someday meet someone who knew your parents“, he states, “and find out where you come from. But you'd need to ask around, I guess.“ Harry looks down at the floor. “If I start asking around now, people will know who I am. If those assholes in cloaks are still looking for me, that could become dangerous for your whole family.“  
Ginny nods sympathetically. “And you are sure that you don't want to go to the police?“ Harry nods vigorously. “No police, they would only get me in trouble.“  
But Harry doesn't even need to go looking for trouble, it finds him. The next day, during lunch break in the factory, one of the watchmen approaches him and eyes him up and down. “You're Harry Potter, aren't you?“ His voice is grim.  
Harry swallows and looks over to Ron quickly. He knows he should lie. It could be the cloaked men searching for him. But if this was about Malfoy and Harry lied to the watchman, would that mean that he'd lose his privilege of missing two days a week?  
“I'm“ - Harry decides to take the smaller risk, “Neville Potter. Not Harry. No idea who you're looking for.“ “Aye“, Ron chimes up. “You wanna go drinking tonight, Neville? I got some fresh ginger ale at home.“ The watchman gives Ron a dark look and walks over to another group of people.  
“Thanks“, Harry whispers gratefully.  
In the afternoon, he becomes more and more nervous. He has a bad feeling about today, something's coming up, he just knows. When Ron and he walk towards the iron gate in the evening, he notices something.  
There are dark figures standing on either side of the gate. They are carefully watching everyone who's passing through.  
Harry stops walking and holds Ron back, too. The other workers walk past them without caring.  
The figures are not wearing hoods or hats, but harry recognizes their mantles. A wave of shock goes through his spine. “It's them“, he tells Ron and takes a step back. “I can't pass through!“  
Ron looks over his shoulder. The door to the factory is still open. “Quick, let's go back inside before we're the last ones left here“, he decides and they run.  
Harry and Ron hide inside the room where they got their first payment from Malfoy not too long ago. It has a window facing the gate and they nervously watch what is going on outside.  
The last workers vanish through the gate and the cloaked men appear to be talking to each other. Harry can't make out their faces in the dark.  
A third person approaches them. He is wearing a suit rather than a cloak and his hair seems to be tied back. Harry presses his nose against the glass to see more.  
To his horror, the three people turn towards the factory and start walking. Harry prays that they won't search the building. The office they are hiding in doesn't look important, they have a good chance of remaining unnoticed.  
As the three figures come nearer, Harry suddenly notices something he's missed before. The third one is carrying a walking cane.  
It is Malfoy. Not the son, but the father. Lucius Malfoy.  
“Fuck“, Ron mutters. “I knew the bloody wankers have to do with that shit. We need to get outta here as fast as possible, Harry.“  
They wait for the three people to vanish inside the building. The gate is closed but not locked yet. “We need to get out now!“, Harry says quietly.  
“What if we run into them?“ Ron is a little white in his face.  
Harry looks out of to the window. There is a rain pipe going down the wall next to it.  
“We‘re taking the window“, he decides. “Wh- Harry, have you gone mad? We're in the second floor!“ But Harry is already opening the window. They can do this, he's sure.  
From inside the room, Ron's watching Harry climb out and grab for the rain pipe. “If this breaks, we're fucked“, he comments but follows suit.  
With a lot of prudence and brawn they climb down the wall, using the pipe and the grooves in the facade. Harry jumps down the last meter and catches himself with both hands on the ground.  
“Quick, now“, he tells Ron, who is coming down. Together, they run to the gate, open it a little and slip through. Harry is immensely thankful for the growing darkness that hides them from unwanted audience.  
They run as fast as their legs carry them and only stop when they've reached Ron's home. “Shit“, Harry breathes. “Shit, Ron, they nearly found me.“  
Ron's out of breath himself. He sinks down on the doormat. “You can't ever go back to the factory.“  
Harry knows he can't. He'll lose his job, but that's better than losing his life. “I want to know what the fuck they want from me“, he whispers. “This bullshit started not long after Malfoy And Son took over the factory. It looks like they found out that I work here and are chasing me since.“ He is just thankful that Malfoy Junior doesn't seem to know about it. Harry was in the manor, for god's sake! He was in predator‘s home without even knowing it.  
Ron knocks on the door and they're let in by Percy. Dinner's long over and the two friends wolf down the leftovers hungrily.  
Molly and Arthur are already sleeping. “I hope dad's getting better now“, Ron sighs. “Harry, we need to tell my family what is going on tomorrow morning. We want you here with us, but they deserve to know if you're in danger.“ Harry understands. He's still a little upset from the happenings in the factory, so it takes him a while to fall asleep. An owl is screeching somewhere in the night and a cold breeze blows through the street. Harry dreams that he's falling down a bottomless pit, further, further and further, until there is nothing left but darkness.  
The next morning he tells the Weasleys. He recounts what he heard that night the cloaked men were demolishing the neighboring tenement and shows them the newspaper article. He even tells them about last night.  
Their faces grow more and more anxious, Molly Weasley was is clutching her hands against her chest. “Harry kid, how did you get into this?“, she wails.  
“I really don't know“, he answers truthfully. “I never messed with anyone important.“   
Molly sighs.  
“Then you need to go to the police“, Percy speaks up. “They are offering you protection, Harry. I heard that Detective Inspector Shacklebolt is a potent man, he could solve this problem.“  
Harry thinks of the blackmail and shakes his head. “I'd rather not.“ He could get the Weasleys into trouble.  
Ron and the others have to go to work. Even Molly and Ginny go, leaving Harry and the sick Arthur behind. Harry sees to it that Ron's father takes his medicine and makes tea on the stove, but he still feels useless. If there is one thing he doesn't like, it is waiting around without being able to do anything.  
But something happens quicker than Harry thought. In the afternoon, someone knocks on the door and as he opens, Percy is standing in front of it with two men in uniforms.  
Shit, thinks Harry. It is the police.  
“Harry Potter?“, one of them asks. Percy nods for Harry. “We'll take you to the police station. If you fight back, we'll take you by force.“  
Harry blinks twice, not knowing what to reply. In the end he simply goes to fetch his shoes and follows the policemen.  
“I'm sorry“, Percy speaks. “This is for your best, you will see.“ Then he tells the police that he has to go back to work and leaves Harry alone.  
Harry swears under his breath. He wanted to avoid this, but it's too late. They have him. If he doesn't oblige now, they will want to find out why. So Harry keeps walking, one policeman on each side. They cross the street and a carriage stops to let them pass.  
Someone sticks out their blond head and unfortunately handsome face through its window to watch. Malfoy's eyes widen as he sees Harry with the policemen.  
Next to him appears a second head, black hair and female face with a slightly turned-upwards nose. “What is it, Draco darling?“, she demands to know. “Just the police and some dirty proletarian, honey“, Malfoy responds without taking his eyes off Harry. Harry would have nearly made a rude gesture in Malfoy's direction, but chooses not to, as the police is there.  
Darling and honey? Harry snorts. Poor bitch got the faggiest bloke in the whole of London.  
They keep walking until they reach the police station. It is an old and big building with narrow windows that looks a little run-down. The stench of old metal lingers in the air, Harry knows the smell from work.  
“In there“, one of the Policemen tells him, not rudely but with a tone that doesn't permit objections. Harry goes up the few steps that lead to the open door and enters the police station.  
There are at least a dozen desks with chatting and writing officers in a great hall. Some of them raise their heads and nod at Harry.  
At the other end of the hall, there's a big staircase that leads up to a big and important-looking room.  
“Up there“, a policeman behind Harry commands and Harry obliges. He walks through the sea of desks and people in uniforms and up the wooden staircase. There's a sign on the big door that reads “Detective Inspector Shacklebolt“.  
The policeman behind Harry knocks loudly and waits for an answer.  
“Enter“, comes a deep voice from within. The policeman straightens his shoulders and turns the door handle.  
They enter a room filled with smoke. There's a lit chimney on one side of the room, a large dark desk filled with files on the other. In front of a large window there is a huge armchair, someone seems to be sitting in it, smoking a pipe.  
When the person in the chair turns around, Harry's breath stops.  
Shacklebolt is the one thing he didn't imagine him to be. The Detective Inspector is a black man.  
Of course he's not the first person of color Harry has ever seen, but this is different. Shacklebolt is in charge here, he has something to say. Harry can see the respect he's getting from the police.  
It is indeed most unusual.  
“Good day, Sir!“, Shacklebolt is greeted and nods. “Good day to you.“  
“I brought Harry Potter, Sir“, the policeman reports dutifully and bows his head. Shacklebolt watches Harry attentively. The latter shuffles a foot on the ground nervously.  
“Then you may leave“, the Detective Inspector demands. Harry is left alone in the room with him.  
Now Harry notices the pin board on the wall - the article he's read is hanging on it, along with other pieces of paper and drawings he's never seen before.  
“Why didn't you come here by yourself?“ Shacklebolt has noticed Harry eyeing the wall. “I can see that you know why you are here. We promised you protection.“  
Harry swallows hard. “I don't-“, his voice is faint, “I don't know who or what exactly is looking for me. I have no idea what is going on. There is no way to tell who's my enemy and who wants to protect me.“ It is, at least, half of the truth. “Sir.“, Harry adds quickly, remembering manners.  
Shacklebolt nods. “Yes, I already thought so. But we can help you there if you are willing to help us in return.“ He scans Harry, waiting for an answer.  
Harry is confused. This sounded just like Shacklebolt knew something. Did he already find out who is chasing Harry?  
“I wouldn't know how I would be able to help you, Sir“, Harry responds warily. “I know nothing about detective work.“  
“That's not how you will help“, is the solemn answer. “In order to get rid of this problem, we need to set up a trap. If you agree to help us, if you play our bait, I can tell you who is chasing you - and much more.“  
Harry feels his heartbeat increasing. He's watching the pin board with the newspaper articles, the images of his name scrawled across buildings' walls in blood. He doesn't want to play the pray, he is curious about what Shacklebolt can tell him, but not enough to take this risk.  
But then Harry remembers the Weasleys. The only people he likes in this world, his only family is at risk because they are hiding him.  
The thought of them dying at the hands of the cloaked men is too terrific. Harry can't let it boil down to that.  
He gathers up his courage and looks into Shacklebolt's dark eyes. “I'll do it“, he agrees.  
The Detective Inspector brings Harry out of his office and into another room on the third floor. It's quite small but the sunlight illuminates it from a wide window. There's a narrow bench underneath it, along with a small desk and a few wooden chairs.  
With a swift movement of the hand Shacklebolt indicates Harry to sit and follows suit.  
“I got quite a story to tell you,“, he says quietly, “Harry Potter. I will tell you where you come from. You have a hurtful, but important past. So do your parents. Are you ready to hear it?“  
A cloud covers the sun and the room gets darker. Harry, wide-eyed, nods. Shacklebolt clears his throat and starts to speak.  
“From what you told me earlier I know that you have no idea where you come from, Harry Potter. Of course, when the terrible thing happened, you were too young to remember. It was the day that ruined everything - almost everything. You were one year old, a happy baby with an equally happy family. Your father, James Potter, came from a family from the old rich, he'd married your mother out of love. He looked just like you, Harry. Black, messy hair and glasses. I knew your father well, he was both brave and righteous. He often visited the police station because some of his friends work here. Whenever we needed help, physically or financially, your father James was here for us. Your mother Lily supported your father in every way she could, she was one of the most intelligent and beautiful women I ever met. She had your exact same eyes. I assure you, Harry, you can't imagine how happy they were when they had a baby son. I was there when you were baptized, whether you believe or not.“  
Harry was unable to process this. A family, he? A rich and happy family?  
“But unfortunately, luck changed. The last years had been dark and devastating for London and the police. A powerful and merciless murderer lurked in London's underworld. He was seeking for riches and for might, and he was not alone. He-who-must-not-be-named was how they called him, in fear of one of his numerous followers overhearing them daring to speak his name. Nobody knew for sure who was his underling and who wasn't, both the poor and the rich served You-know-who. They pillaged and killed at night, wearing dark cloaks with hoods and masks to hide their faces. The newspaper started to call them “Death Eaters“, after a rumor that their initiation ritual involved eating a raw human heart. The police was desperate to find You-know-who, but all their effort were useless. Or at least that was until your father, James Potter, found out where He-who-must-not-be-named resided. We raided the place and were able to catch more Death Eaters than we'd ever hoped to. But You-know-who was able to flee.  
We took your family in protective custody, we hid you and your parents away in a land house. But despite this, that evil maniac was able to find you. The first one he killed was your father. I am very sorry, Harry. You-know-who killed him with his trademark technique, a knife stabbed straight through the head. Then he found you in your baby bed and put his knife to your forehead. But before he could stab it through your skull, your mother barged into the room. You-know-who's knife slipped, leaving a massive jagged wound. Your mother was able to injure him heavily before her inevitable death at his hands. You-know-who, weakened and suffering, was barely able to drag his gruesome body out of the land house and vanish. You were left behind in the crib, crying until a peasant passing by under the window heard it. It was him to give you away to the orphanage before the police even knew that Lily and James Potter had died. We only found out a few days later, when we worried because we heard nothing of your father. Of course we tried to find you, but the peasant had died of starvation and nobody knew where exactly he took you. Only years later we found out that it was and orphanage that had moved to London – by then they‘d kicked you out already. Harry Potter was gone and we were unable to find him.  
In the following years, London's underworld shrunk significantly and every trace of You-know-who disappeared. We thought him dead - until your name appeared on house walls and new Death Eater attacks happened. He-who-must-not-be-named is back with a new force and more than just the followers we never caught. He is looking for you so he can kill the only man he failed to murder. He wants to build an imperium even bigger than the one he had before. And now we need you to catch him, to end his miserable life once for all. We need you to safe London.“  
Harry Potter is dumbfound. There are goosebumps on his arms and a cold shiver runs down his spine.  
“Is all of this true?“, he dares to whisper after a while. Shacklebolt nods.  
The people who were looking for Harry are Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater! So that's it. Fucking Malfoy has found Harry's name in the files of his factory workers and with that, He-who-must-not-be-named started to hunt poor Harry.  
This is now truly unbelievable. The factory he worked in belongs to the man who works for his parents' killer.  
“So what happened-“ Harry's question is interrupted by someone knocking at the door. “Yes“, Kingsley barks, unnerved. “It's not as if we went to this room to stay unbothered, god forbid“, he grumbles.  
The door is opened and a sweating policeman sticks his head through the door. “Somehow, people know Potter's here. Malfoy Junior asks to speak him.“  
Harry's thoughts start to tumble. Malfoy - he can't know anything about his father's secret, can he? No, if Draco Malfoy knew, Harry would be dead already.  
“Malfoy Senior is suspected of being one of them“, Kingsley warns Harry. The latter nods: “Can confirm.“ What is Malfoy doing here? It's dangerous that he saw Harry with the police. What if he tells his father about it?  
Harry walks through the door, ignoring Kingsley's objection. He needs to know what Malfoy is up to.  
The blond boy is standing in the great hall of the police station, hands in the pockets of his fine leather coat, looking cockier than he ought to.  
“Potter“, he smirks when Harry comes walking towards him. Harry doesn't like the tone. “Surprised to see you aren't in shackles, but I guess they don't want to dirty them for someone like you. What are you in for? Theft?“ It is unbelievable. Malfoy seems to think that Harry has been arrested by the police! Well - Harry admits - when Malfoy saw Harry being escorted by two policemen, it really must have looked like that.  
Harry decides to just roll with it for a little. “Come here to gloat, Malfoy?“, he spits.  
“Silly“, smirks Malfoy, “I came to bail you out of jail. How much? Two hundred? Three hundred? Needless to mention that you owe me, then.“  
Of course that is why Malfoy came. To take advantage. That‘s all he ever does.  
“No, Malfoy.“, Harry answers decisively. “Forget it. Everything. Forget that you can buy me out of here, forget the deal we had, the one Ron and I made with you. Forget it all and leave. I sack myself from your factory today, and so does Ron Weasley.“  
With glee he watches Malfoy's jaw drop. He can see him searching for words but finding none. Then, Malfoy's face darkens. “You tell anyone anything and I will kill you personally.“ “No worries“, Harry jeers. “I couldn't care less about you.“  
“Fine, same here!“, Malfoy shouts with a red head and storms off.  
The policemen, who have watched the scene with mild interest, go back to work. Harry turns around. On the steps to Kingsley's office, the Detective Inspector himself is standing and waiting.  
“I have one question, Sir“, Harry asks the dark-skinned man, “You said my father came from a rich family. What happened to his wealth? Do I get anything of it?“ Kingsley nods. “You own a bit of land and a respectable house in London. It has gathered some dust, but everything should be intact. And there's enough money for the rest of your lifetime stored safely with one of your father's friends.“  
Harry lets out a relieved breath. He and the Weasleys will be able to easily manage without Malfoy's dirty money. Harry will be fine.  
If he survives He-who-must-be-named, that is.  
“What about You-know-who?“, he asks with sweaty palms. “What will I need to do, Sir?“  
“Let's go back to the room I took you to before“, Kingsley decides. “I will explain it to you, there.“


	6. Ramsden Heath

Once they have sat down at the small table again, Kingsley lays out his plan for Harry. “We will spread a rumor that Harry Potter has gone to see the land house his parents died in. It is a temptation You-know-who won't be able to resist - he will think he can finish it where it started. He will come and run straight into our trap.“  
“But I won't need to actually enter the house, will I?“, Harry asks, shivering. What if the police failed and he died in the exact same house where he got his scar?  
“Not necessarily“, he's told. “But we need to make sure you're seen around there. He won't come if he suspects it to be a trap. Do we have to change our plans if Malfoy junior knows that you were at the police station?“ He sounds a little accusing, but it's not as if he could blame Harry that Malfoy saw him with the policemen. “No“, Harry decides. “I know for sure that Malfoy's uninvolved in his father's business. And he will not tell him I'm here, I know he doesn't want his father to know that he has to do with me. I‘m too much of a proletarian for him.“  
“Good“, Shacklebolt speaks. “Otherwise we would have had a big problem. You can go home for now, take your time to let everything sink in. Tomorrow morning I'll introduce you to the team that will accompany you to the village of the land house and you'll all get a carriage.“  
And just like that, it's settled. Harry is allowed to go back to the burrow. He will have to tell Ron that he's away for a while. Harry should be happy to get some time for himself, without his friend, but he isn't. It feels like he will miss the Weasleys a lot.  
When Harry's at the burrow, Arthur opens the door for him. His cheeks have become a little rosier and he smiles again. “Hello, Harry. I'm glad you're back from the police.“ Harry smiles. “And I'm glad you're doing better.“  
It takes some time until the Weasley family has returned from work. At the dinner table, Harry recounts all of his day and watches the Weasleys' eyes growing wider and wider.  
“Blimey, mate“, Ron whispers when he hears of Harry's possessions. “Do I need to call you Sir now or anything?!“  
Harry nearly chokes on his dumpling. “No, gods, no way! Don't you dare!“  
Molly isn't happy about Shacklebolt's plan of bringing Harry in danger to set up a trap for You-know-who, but packs him a huge lunch packet for the trip. Ginny looks a little let-down. “Then when will our next football match be?“  
Harry shrugs guiltily. “No idea how long this is gonna take. But we'll do a rematch, I promise.“  
When he's alone with Ron, Harry tells him that he's sacked himself and Ron from Malfoy and Son and ended their little deal with junior. At first, Ron's a little unsure if that was a good idea, but Harry promises to help the Weasleys with the money if he can keep living with them in exchange.  
In the early hours of the morning, Harry packs his bag with what he needs most. The first rays of sun are falling through the window and tickle Ron's freckly nose. “Goodbye“, Harry mutters quietly to his sleeping friend. Not much time has passed since he was always alone, struggling to survive, living like a lost dog without a real home. How quick Ron and his life with him have grown on Harry. He's afraid of losing it again.  
Harry steps out of the door and takes in a deep breath of the fresh morning air. Some birds are singing from the rooftops, the first workers are walking down the streets. “Well then“, Harry says to himself, “Let's go. There is no point in looking back anymore. Quite the adventure is lying ahead.“  
“You don't think you're going alone, do you?!“, shouts a sudden voice from behind. Harry turns on his heels. “Ron!“  
The lanky boy is standing in the door frame, his hat in one hand, rubbing his tired eyes with the other. “Bloody right! What am I supposed to do now if not follow you? Go to work? You sacked me, bastard, and there is no fucking way you're facing You-know-who without your best mate!“  
Harry laughs. “What would I do without you, Ron?“  
Together, the two friends take off. Ron has to run back to the burrow after five minutes because he forgot his new shoes. He whistles a song on the way to the police station and steals a bread from Harry's lunch packet. Harry is grinning like a maniac, feeling much better about his adventure.  
Shacklebolt and a group of people Harry doesn't know are awaiting them inside the police station. Harry can see Ron mustering the Detective Inspector curiously. When the time's right, Harry decides, he'll ask someone how Shacklebolt, as a black person, managed to get allowed into the police and, even more, achieved such a high rank.  
Ron and he approach the group of people. Harry smiles, trying his best to look friendly. He's going to spend quite some time with these people now. “Hello“, he greets, a little shy.  
There are three people standing with Shacklebolt - two men and one woman. The one closest to Harry has dark and unusually long, slightly shaggy hair. He's staring at Harry as if he'd seen a ghost. “Hello, Harry Potter“, the one standing next to the staring man greets. He, on the other hand, has shorter and lighter brown hair and friendly eyes. Harry noticed a faint scar on the man's cheek. “I'm Remus Lupin“, he introduces himself. “You can call me Remus. The guy next to me who's apparently unable to introduce himself, is Sirius Black.“ Sirius snaps out of his paralysis and closes his open mouth. “I'm sorry, Harry“, he says. “It's just that - you look so much like your father.“  
“You knew my dad?“, Harry asks, amazed. The men nod. “Your father was a very good and kind man“, Sirius says quietly. “We still miss him to this day.“  
Ron, who's watched the scene play out quietly, speaks up. “And who is she?“, he asks and nudges her head towards the woman.  
“This“, Remus speaks and smiles, “Is my wife, Nymphadora Lupin.“ Nymphadora looks like she'd have much rather spoken for herself. “Call me Dora“, she says to Ron. “And you didn't introduce yourself, either.“  
While Ron introduces himself, Harry notices that Dora's hair seem to be slightly pink. He makes a mental note to ask her how she did that when he knows her a little better.  
“Alright, crew“, Kingsley interrupts them. “You can do the rest of the talking on your way to Ramsden Heath. There is no time to lose now. I will come after you with the police force when the rumors are spread. The carriage is waiting for you outside. Take care.“  
“Thanks, Sir“, Harry answers, Sirius and Remus quickly bow their heads.  
The carriage is not excessively large, but still big enough to fit them all in. There's some storage room under the benches and in the chest on the back of the carriage.  
It is being pulled by two black horses with strong legs and wild manes. Sirius volunteers as the first coachman of the day.  
Harry climbs inside. It somehow smells of bread and fresh cheese. There are red curtains to close the windows on both sides. Matching cushions cover the benches fully.  
“Looks nice“, Ron comments when he climbs in after Harry.  
When Remus and Dora have sat down, too, Sirius pops his whip and the horses start pulling. Inside the carriage, there is a bit of an awkward silence until Remus clears his throat. “So, Harry. Where do you live at the moment?“ “With his family“, Harry answers and points at Ron. “But only since I got kicked out of my last flat. I lived here and there over the years.“ Remus nods, his face a little sad. “And you never thought about looking for your parents or other family?“  
Harry shrugs. “You know, I was told that my parents are dead. And considering I was given to an orphanage, I always assumed that there was no one who'd want me anyways.“ He sees Remus' pained expression and adds “But I managed well on my own. I'm strong and I don't get sick easily. I didn't need a lot of money.“  
“You own quite a lot, though“, Dora speaks up. “Remus has been keeping it safe for you. Don't worry, we didn't touch it, even if sometimes a new stove would be nice. No idea how, but I already managed to explode something in it twice.“ This makes Harry grin a little. “Dora's a terrible cook“, Remus warns them. “Don't think she's coming along to prepare food for you.“  
Until midday, they chat happily. Harry learns that Nymphadora Lupin works in a fabric factory. She appears to have died her hair by accident by tripping over her own feet and in conclusion nearly dipping her whole head into a pot of paint. Remus promises to give Harry's belongings back to him when they come back from Ramsden Heath and to show him the house he and his parents used to live in.  
The landscape outside the window changes slowly, from narrow houses and smoke-emitting factories to small hills and green grass. They bypass a few small rivers and drive through a light forest.  
Around lunchtime, the carriage comes to a halt. They are in the middle of a small country street next to large potato fields. They unpack some food - the Lupins hand out some freshly baked bread with cheese - and sit down on the side of the road to eat. Then Sirius and Remus switch turns with driving the carriage.  
Sirius, as Harry learns in the afternoon, isn't quite as talkative as Remus. He mostly keeps staring at Harry as if he hasn't quite realized yet that they finally found him after all.  
It takes Harry some time to discover that Sirius actually is his godfather. “Then you must have really known my dad well“, he says, astonished.  
“I knew James better than anyone else in this world, Harry“, Sirius tells him quietly. “He let me live with him after I ran away from my family, the Blacks. They were rich pricks who stomped on anyone who didn't hold the same values. I never got along with my family and they never got along with me. I hated their alignment to Riddle.“  
“Who is Riddle?“, Harry asks, curious.  
Sirius lowers his voice. “Riddle was the name no one dared to speak. Tom Riddle, the most cruel man London had ever seen, was feared so much that people started to call him You-know-who or He-who-must-not-be-named. My family was full of sodding idiots who followed his lead, giving it all to him. Fortunately, they got busted one night, the police caught them with Riddle. They were thrown into the deepest dungeons of Newgate prison, where they rot like the foul rats they are. The only one who got away somehow was the servant, Kreacher. I don't know where he is now, but I hope that he found an end even worse than Newgate.“  
“We know where Kreacher is now“, Ron exclaims. “He‘s working at Malfoy manor!“  
Sirius frowns darkly. “Malfoys“, he spits. “Disgusting weasels, always surviving somehow. They followed Riddle as well, but no one was ever able to prove it!“ Just like Harry had expected. “The Malfoys are manipulative, arrogant bastards“, he says and means it.  
The sun is slowly starting to set and paints the sky in orange, red and lilac. “We're nearly there!“, Remus shouts from outside the carriage.  
Harry stretches his neck to look outside the window.  
In the dale between two large hills he can make out the tiny dark dots that are the silhouettes of small houses.  
It is a very little town with a small church and mostly farmers' ranches. They bypass an oaken sign saying “Welcome to Ramsden Heath“.  
Harry is told that they're staying with a farmer named Fletcher as the village doesn't have an inn. Apparently, there only is an old tavern wayfarers can frequent.  
The carriage stops in an old shed. It smells different here, Harry notices when he gets out. He can smell animals and freshly cut wood, a faint trace of smoke lingers in the cool air. It smells better than London, somehow healthier.  
An old man with a wrinkled sun-burnt face and a lantern in his hand shows them into the house. At first he complains that they are more people than anticipated, but when Remus assures him that they will pay for Ron's bed too, he shuts up quickly.   
They all share a large room with a tiny window. It's situated over the kitchen, which, the peasant assures them, warms it up nicely on colder days.  
Tired from the long travel, Harry falls onto his mattress and pulls the scratchy cover up to his ears. It doesn't take him long to fall asleep.  
When they are awoken by the crowing of a rooster in the morning, the farmers are long gone and working on the field already. Harry and Ron eat some of the food they brought from London and Remus tells them more about their plan over breakfast.  
“Yesterday night“, he explains, “Sir Shacklebolt arranged that a small article was printed in the morning edition of the Quibbler. It basically says that secret sources tell that Harry Potter showed up at the police station yesterday and has now gone to explore the beginnings of his story.“ “Why did you print it in the Quibbler?“, Ron wonders. “Nobody believes that bloody newspaper, it's full of garbage!“ “Well“, Remus explains, “Most bigger newspapers are controlled by the government and if the article would show up there, You-know-who would know that we're setting a trap. If, however, it's being printed in the Quibbler, it is more probable that the police doesn‘t know about the article being published, except some corrupt policemen who'd sell this confidential information.“  
After breakfast, Harry and Ron take their time to explore the village. After all, now he'll have to make sure to be seen around. Riddle will have to hear that Harry is really here.  
He and Ron watch the land houses that are a little further away from the village and wonder in which one Harry's parents died. They walk through the green corn fields and sit in the bright spring sun. Ron brings up football and that he's contemplating joining a local team. He convinces Harry to go to the tryouts with him once this is over.  
For lunch, they go back to the old farmhouse. Of course the old peasant Fletcher will make them pay extra for meals, but Harry can afford lunch for Ron and him now with his own and not dirty money. It feels damn great.  
Only when they enter the kitchen, Harry notices that the farmer and his wife aren't the only ones living in the house. There is a third person, a black man, preparing the table for lunch.  
He's pretty tall, maybe in his thirties. Judging from the ugly rags he's wearing, Harry guesses that he's some kind of underling, maybe a servant.  
The man doesn't even look up when they enter the kitchen. He keeps his head down and his eyes on the floor. Ron shrugs it off and sits down on the table, but Harry speaks up. “Good morning“, he greets.  
The man's eyes flicker up in surprise. He clearly isn't used being talked to. “ -morning“, he answers in a thick accent.  
“I'm Harry, this is my friend Ron“, he introduces them. “We're probably staying here for a while. And who are you?“  
The man still seems unsure of what to say. But after another nervous glance at Harry, he finally answers. “My name's Dobby, Sir.“  
A door flies open and the farmers wife, old, small and round like a potato, comes stomping in. “Shut up and keep working“, she breathes. “Talking doesn't become you. Do you want me to iron your ears?“ Dobby cowers away from her and shakes his head in panic. “Thought so“, she answers. “Now come clean the living room for our guests“, she commands and drags him out by the hem of his dirty shirt.  
“Wow“, Harry says when he and Ron are alone in the kitchen. “Poor Dobby.“  
Ron shrugs. “I've seen niggers being treated worse.“ Harry's surprised by how little Ron seems to mind. “You don't like them?“ “I do like them, a lot“, Ron smiles. “I'd love to have one. Hey, you could get one now that you're rich!“  
Harry shakes his head, feeling a little nauseous.  
“No one should be treated this way“, he says.  
The door comes flying open again. Fletcher, his wife, Dora and Remus come in. “Sirius is eating in town“, Remus declares. They sit down at the table and the woman serves them plates filled with what appears to be stew.  
“Is Dobby not eating with us?“, Harry asks.  
Fletcher snickers, as though Harry said something funny. “He can have whatever is leftover“, he declares and wolfs down a spoonful.  
Harry stays in the kitchen until everybody's gone, successfully sneaking out his plate with some of the stew. He makes it to the living room unseen.  
“Hey“, he whispers and Dobby, who was kneeling on the floor cleaning it, jumps. He turns around.  
Harry carefully slides his plate over to the black man. “They didn't leave much for you so I brought you this.“  
“Thank you, Master“, Dobby answers with his soft, deep voice. Harry quickly shakes his head. “No, no, just Harry. Not Master.“  
Dobby takes the spoon and starts to eat hungrily. “Thanks, Harry“, he manages in between the bites. “Dobby is - I am very thankful.“  
Harry smiles. “Why do you work here at all? How much do they pay you?“  
Dobby shakes his head. “Food and sleep for pay, don't be taken anywhere else.“  
Harry feels a strong bang of pity in his chest. This is unfair.  
Dobby somehow reminds him of himself before he had anything. Enduring punishment to survive. Thinking that there is no way his fate will ever change.  
“I'll help you to get out of here“, he says when the door creaks open again. “Oi, Harry!“, Ron exclaims. “Here you are! C'mon, the Lupins are taking us on a hike!“  
In the afternoon, they all climb one of the hills around the village and look down from it. From above, the houses look like small pebbles and everything seems so tiny and insignificant. The sun is hiding behind a small cloud and a fresh wind blows through Harry's hair and cools him down.  
Sirius extends an arm and indicates a land house. “Here it is“, he tells Harry quietly. “Your father and your mother died in it. Nobody lived in the house since.“  
Harry squints his eyes, but the house is too far away to really see much. It looks dark and maybe abandoned. But he can't really tell from this distance.   
It is evening when they are back in town. Remus decides that they'll eat in the tavern since they all have to pay for food anyways. He also doesn't seem too keen to eat something like the stew the hosts offered them again very soon.  
The tavern is nice and cozy. A few flames are flickering in an oven of green marble, a single candle illuminates each table. The windows are closed by red and white curtains, a maid with a red braid that reminds Harry of Ginny runs to bring them something to drink.  
They all have some ginger ale, Dora has an apple juice because she's a woman. The food in the tavern tastes much better than their lunch. The day passes well and Harry goes to bed with the feeling that not much can go pear-shaped anymore.


	7. A carriage full of bad news

But nothing can ever be as good as it seems. It is shortly after breakfast and two new carriages arrive in the village.  
At first Harry thinks it is Shacklebolt with his police team. He gets out of the house and watches the carriages stop not far away from the farm. They must be unsure where to go to. Harry's ready to greet the Detective Inspector and to show him to the farm house. But when the door of the first carriage opens, a girl steps out of it.  
She has long, black hair, a fringe and is wearing an expensive looking, white hat. Her red dress reflects the sunlight in a way that suggests that it is made out of silk.  
She takes a good look at the village, then sniffs the air. The girl sneers. “It smells of shit here“, she says in her squeaky posh voice.  
The other door of the carriage opens and it only takes a short glance at the unnaturally blond hair for Harry to recognize the second person. As fast as he's able to, Harry sprints into the shade of a house and hides there.  
He tangles his hands up in his hair in anger. Why?! How does he deserve this? Why does Draco fucking Malfoy have to show up here? This is so damn unfair, all Harry wants is a goddamn break of this prick!  
He misses what Malfoy says to the girl, but judging from the look on his face, he isn't all too happy about their situation either. Good, Harry thinks. If you don't like it here, you can sod off.  
It only gets worse when the door of the second carriage opens. Out of it steps Lucius Malfoy, chest swollen and walking cane glittering in the morning sun. A blond woman is with him, wearing a long dress and a hat not unlike the one of the younger girl. It must be Mrs. Malfoy.  
The four of them, accompanied by their two coachmen who also appear to be some kind of servants, walk towards the biggest house in the village. Malfoy senior uses his walking stick to knock. Too good to use his hands, Harry thinks angrily, still hiding and watching the ongoings.  
When the major of town opens up and greets Malfoy with a kiss on the ring, Harry decides that he's seen enough. Now he needs to tell Ron about this.  
Ron, who's overslept, is still sitting in the kitchen, having some bread and milk for breakfast. Harry hasn't even opened the door fully when the words break out of his mouth.  
“The Malfoys are here!“, he nearly shouts. “This family of assholes somehow decided to take a trip to Ramsden fucking Heath, which is in the middle of nowhere! I swear to god, Ron, I can't fucking stand Malfoy's face anymore, and now he and his whole moron family just show up again! Here!“ He stops to take a deep breath. Then he adds a dark “I must be cursed, Ron, no one else is so fucking unlucky. I can't stand this anymore.“  
Ron shakes his head slowly. “I feel you, mate“, he says, “but this is no coincidence. Just think for a moment.“ Harry raises his eyebrows and Ron hurries to explain. “Shacklebolt spread the news that you are here but You-know-who doesn't know if that's true, at least not yet. He doesn't want to waste his own time finding out whether you're really here or not, so he just sends one of his followers. Lucius Malfoy. He'll probably ask around, trying to find you.“  
Yes, Harry admits, that makes sense. “That was really clever, Ron.“ His ginger friend just grins a little. “Nah, sometimes you're just a little slow, mate. You took Malfoy's appearance as a personal insult.“ Harry shuffles his feet on the floor. “I think you take the whole Malfoy Junior-thing too seriously. We're done with him, we can act as if nothing ever happened. Now we just have to make sure that Senior finds out that you're really here.“  
Yes, Ron makes a lot of sense, except that he's wrong in one point. Harry will never be able to act as if nothing ever happened between Malfoy and him. There's the thing he will never be able to tell Ron about. Harry still feels manipulated and betrayed.  
“Yes. Thanks, Ron“, he says and leaves his friend in the kitchen with the breakfast.  
Harry deeply regrets every single time he visited Malfoy without Ron. All went wrong. And the fact that that one time - Harry thinks with a sick feeling to his stomach - that it had been good before Malfoy had destroyed everything by ridiculing and belittling him - it just makes everything so much worse.  
Maybe it will pass if he beats Malfoy up. Harry clenches his fist. Sure now that the bastard is in town, there will be a nice opportunity for that.  
Alone and without friends by his side, Harry strolls around town. It's not lunchtime yet and only few people are around, because most of them are working. On the streets, Harry encounters a shabby looking man with a torn mantle and a mad eye that moves differently than the second one. Harry asks the way to the tavern, which he actually already knows, as a conversation opener. He mentions his own name and why he's here. Who knows, maybe word will spread a little. Maybe it will help Lucius Malfoy on his mission to make sure Harry's in town.  
He wonders whether Malfoy Junior knows why his family is here. Probably not, his father must have told him a lie or at least a half-truth, if he didn't tell his son his secret by now. If Malfoy knew that his father is a death eater looking for Harry Potter, he later would be in great danger. Malfoy knows what Harry looks like, after all. Everyone else would need to look at Harry's scar to identify him.  
But on the other hand, Harry tells himself, Malfoy wouldn't dare to betray him out of fear that his own secret would be exposed.  
Harry is on his way to the tavern, hungry for lunch. He has a few coins in his pocket. The sun is now standing high in the sky, burning down on Harry's skin. His neck is sweating slightly.  
Given that there is only one tavern in the village and given that Malfoy just arrived and now probably wants to explore his surroundings, Harry should have expected him there. He didn't, but still isn't all too surprised when he runs into the blonde. It's just sadly a little too late to hide and avoid him now.  
Malfoy, with the dark haired girl clinging to his arm, stares at Harry in shock when he appears out of the blue. Then he opens his foul mouth. “What the devil are you doing here?!“ No, Harry thinks, Malfoy definitely doesn't know about his fathers plans. “Trying to enter the tavern. You and this ugly thing by your side are blocking the entrance“, Harry responds coldly. The girl gasps for air, offended. “And who the fuck are you?“, she hisses. “Looking like a peasant, stinking like cow dung! Draco, do you know this guy?!“ He shakes his head, eyes fixed on Harry, mouth an angry, thin white line. “No. But this uncultured swine will not ruin our trip.“ Harry tries to sneak past the other boy to enter the tavern, but Malfoy blocks his path. “Where do you think you're going?! You offended my fiancee, you'll pay for this!“ He clenches his fist and starts pulling his white sleeves back. Fine, Harry thinks darkly, he sure fights better than this whiny kid. But the girl interrupts them. “Not here!“, she says, appalled. “Draco, darling, not in broad daylight! You know how such things are handled!“  
“Right“, Malfoy answers and slowly unclenches his hands. Then he turns to Harry once again. “I'm sparing you for now, but don't think you're getting away this easily. Meet me when the sun's set, downtown, and we will sort this out like real men.“  
The girl's face suddenly lights up and she screeches in delight. Her voice hurts Harry's ears. “Oh good lord, I can't believe it! The first duel in my name!“ Malfoy nods, still watching Harry. “Yes, Pansy darling, even if this swine isn't actually worth dueling. Look at him. Lowest class.“  
The door of the tavern opens up behind Malfoy and a voice from inside suddenly speaks “Watch it, rich boy. You're talking to the heir of one of the most respected and wealthiest families in all England!“ Malfoy whirls around on his heels and Harry catches a glimpse of Sirius leaning in the door frame. He musters Malfoy with disapproval. “This is such an outrageous lie!“, Malfoy exclaims but Sirius shakes his head. “Pay attention who you anger“, he advises Malfoy like a school boy, “or you will pay for it.“ Then he extends and arm to shoo Malfoy and the girl called Pansy away. “Come in, Harry.“  
Harry enters the tavern, hungry. “I wouldn't have needed your help“, he argues while sitting down at Sirius' table. “I can defend myself.“ Sirius shakes his head. “Would have been useless. I know this kind of people - they'll only respect you if your social status is right. Everyone lower is seen like dirt on the sole of their shoes. If you want to be left in peace, they must understand that you are someone.“ Harry nods. “Will you duel him?“, Sirius asks.  
“I know you wouldn't want me to“, Harry starts, but Sirius interrupts him. “No, no!“, he says with a strange gleam in the eye, “That's exactly what your father would have done. Defended his honor. Maybe try not to kill that boy - shoot his shoulder or his leg. Just make sure you win.“  
Harry swallows nervously. “But I don't have a gun.“ “Remus does, he's a policeman. I can help you get it.“  
At first Harry's a bit unsure. He hates Malfoy, and he would punch his face the next time he's given an opportunity, but shoot him?  
But then Harry remembers what Malfoy did to him. The humiliation, the degrading. There's a foul taste in Harry's mouth and just like that, his hesitation fades. Malfoy deserves to hurt. He deserves a bullet. Harry chuckles dryly. It even was Malfoy's idea. It is time to finally show strength and courage. Yes, he thinks, his father would be proud of him. “I'll do it“, Harry decides. “You help me get a gun, and you must show me how to shoot. I will stand up to the ones who disrespect me.“  
“Good!“, Sirius exclaims and pats Harry's shoulder. “I knew you had it in you, boy! We'll go shooting right after lunch!“


	8. The duel in the dark

After a fulfilling meal, Sirius nicks Remus' work pistol.  
“Don't worry“, he whispers and winks at Harry, “he won't even notice that it's gone. He'll only need it when Riddle shows up around here. And in the worst case, I'll be there to find an excuse why the gun isn't around.“  
The gun is relatively short, but still heavy in Harry's hand. The handle appears to be made of silver, a small black writing on it betrays that it is a policeman's gun. “Come on“, Sirius nudges his head towards the door. “You can try it outside.”  
Together, Harry and Sirius walk to a large barren field in the vicinity of the woods. There, his godfather shows him how to load and unload the pistol. Then Harry tries it by himself.  
It is easy. The feeling of it makes him slightly nervous, but also excited. His hands shake a little when he loads the gun again. Sirius steadies them with his own. “Now the trick of shooting is“, he explains, “that you need to hold the pistol in one straight line. Then you can look at the middle of the shaft to see where the bullet will hit. And don't stretch your elbows.“ He adjusts the position of Harry's arms. “See, like this. Be prepared, the pistol will be pushed backwards when you shoot. Now try to shoot that tree.“  
Harry pulls the trigger and a loud bang echoes over the field. The bullet carves a small hole into the tree. It is easier than he thought. Harry laughs.  
Soon Sirius has to look for smaller targets for Harry to shoot at. He's good, and he's a fast learner. Harry's aware that Malfoy probably did this regularly, but his own success doesn't allow much nervousness to come up.  
In the late afternoon, Harry and Sirius make out another set of carriages approaching the village. This time, it really is the police. “We should greet Shacklebolt“, Sirius decides and they store the pistol in a pocket.  
Out of three carriages ascend seven policemen and Detective Inspector Shacklebolt, all dressed in convenient traveler's clothes, not betraying their profession. The farmer doesn't seem too happy about the additional horses he has to fit into the stables and keeps moaning until Lupin digs some coins out of his pockets. Ron, who's come to watch the spectacle, shuffles over to Harry. “Where have you been?“, he asks his friend while Fletcher calls for Dobby to bring the carriages away. “I'll tell you later“, Harry whispers back and steals a glance at the pocket Sirius is carrying with him. Lupin doesn't seem to have noticed the missing pistol yet.  
Dobby comes from the field to obey his Master, but suddenly he stops dead in his tracks. Dobby's eyes widen and his mouth falls open.  
It takes Harry a second to realize what Dobby's staring at - or rather who.  
The Detective Inspector is smoking his pipe casually, checking out the town. It doesn't even take the uniform to make clear Shacklebolt's in the highest position here. One policeman is holding the his baggage, awaiting an order, another one is taking the Inspector's cloak for him.  
“Why?“, Dobby asks Harry quietly, “How did this happen? Dobby has never seen something alike!“ All Harry can do is shrug. He doesn't know either.  
Dobby squints his eyes as if to check if Shacklebolt's skin is really as dark as his own. Then he raises his eyebrows and shakes his head in bewilderment.  
Shacklebolt has noticed Dobby's stare and approaches him, but farmer Fletcher isn't having any of that. “To work, Dobby!“, he shouts angrily. “You ain't got the time to chat!“  
Dobby quickly roams his eyes over Shacklebolt again, then bows his head and obeys.  
The Detective Inspector gives Fletcher a look hard enough to give Harry the chills. The air's suddenly loaded with tension. The farmer bares his teeth like a wild animal.  
The policemen insist that the others go back to what they were doing before - they don't want too many people to stare at them. You-know-who is supposed to know about Harry Potter being here, not about the best unit from Londons police station.  
Harry takes Ron aside and tells him all about what happened today. During the story, he can watch the color slowly draining from Ron's face.   
“Damn“, the boy whispers at the end of the story. “A duel, Harry? Have you and Sirius gone entirely bonkers? Malfoy's probably been shooting for years, you for one afternoon! And even though he's a dirty fag - don't you think this is a little exaggerated? What if something happens to you?“ “We really thought it through“, Harry tries to convince Ron. “Don't worry. I'll stand with my shoulders to Malfoy, this way it's harder for him to hit me and in case he does, he won't shoot anything important, rather a leg or my arm. And if I win, I have a shooting signal with Sirius. If he doesn't hear it after the dueling shots, he comes running for help. But he says I don't need to worry, I'm a good shooter by nature. So was my father, did you know?“  
Ron raises his hands to his head in desperation. “This is fucked up, Harry. Do you even hear yourself? You're here to avoid being murdered by You-know-who but you risk being killed by Draco bloody Malfoy!“  
Oh, how much Harry would want to explain why he needs to do this, why he needs to defeat Malfoy. How much he'd like to explain why he needs the revenge. But Harry can't.  
“Sorry, Ron“, he just says. “I'll tell Sirius that in case anything happens to me, you'll get my property and my money.“  
Whack! Harry stumbles backwards, his nose starting to bleed. “Hey!“, he shouts. Ron still has his fist raised and looks paler than ever. “We're not talking about that!“, he nearly screams. “Stop this bullshit! For heaven's sake, Harry, have you gone mad?! If you must go duel Malfoy, then do it, but don't you dare to kick the fucking bucket! And if you do, I'll kill you myself, you bastard!“  
It doesn't work like that, Harry wants to say, but he's too busy trying to stop the bleeding. Fortunately, his nose doesn't feel broken.  
“I'm going inside now“, Ron grumbles. “Dora's showed me some card games. They're more fun than talking to someone who's obviously lost his mind.“ Then he stomps away.  
After a while, when the bleeding has stopped, Harry follows Ron inside. He's sitting in the kitchen with Dora and Remus, concentrated on the cards in his hands. Shacklebolt is nowhere to be seen.  
“Where's the police?“, Harry asks after a while, “And where's the Detective Inspector?“  
Remus looks up from his cards and smiles at Harry. “They went to the land house. You know, that one. They want to be prepared for the showdown. Sadly, I couldn't come along, the people of the village could know me already and it's better if I'm not seen around there, just in case.“  
Harry's heart is bumping a little faster. If Remus had wanted to come along, would he have checked for his pistol? Probably. This was a close one.  
“I actually wanted to ask you something about Shacklebolt.“ Harry decides to finally ask that question that was on his mind for quite a while now. “How on earth did he become part of the police, let alone Detective Inspector? And why is everyone respecting him so much?“  
Now Ron's looking up from his cards, interested, too. “Yes, good question!“  
Remus clears his throat and starts to speak.  
“Shacklebolt is - so you could say - the most unusual black man I've ever met. He grew up here in London with an exceptionally nice white family. The wife couldn't get any children, so they treated him like their own. Kingsley got all the education rich white kids get, and though many said that this was wasted energy on a nigger, he showed surprising skill and interest. He was about your age when his parents were murdered and ended up being the prime subject, mostly because of his roots and him being the only heir. Kingsley spent several nights being questioned in the police station and turned out to be innocent - even more than that, it was him who helped the police solve the murder by showing more intelligence and deduction skills than every other man in the police station. At first they felt ridiculed by him, but they soon learned that it was wise to ask Kingsley Shacklebolt for help. Soon he was the best man they had and after he saved the life of the last Detective Inspector, it was clear that he'd become the next - despite all.“  
Ron and Harry's eyes have grown wide. It really is an exceptional story, an exceptional way Shacklebolt has gone. “So Shacklebolt's basically a nigger outside but a white man inside“, Ron comments and Remus nods.  
Sirius and the policemen are back for dinner. As the time passes, Harry becomes more and more nervous. The sun is slowly starting to set.  
After dinner, Sirius takes Harry aside and shoves the bag with the gun at him. “Don't worry“, he says quietly. “I know you can do this, you got it in you, Harry. Just don't forget our signal and everything will be fine. I'll be listening for the dueling shots and if you don't give the signal afterwards, I'll come running for help.“  
Harry swallows hard. “Okay“, he answers and nervously licks his dried-out lips. “I trust you, Sirius.“  
“You can“, the man answers and shoves Harry towards the door. “Now go, before anyone comes by and sees you leaving!“  
The evening air is fresh and the last rays of sun are dancing quietly on the rooftops. The village has gone quiet and there is no one in the streets except a savage looking stray cat which flashes its teeth at Harry. He presses the bag closer to his side and walks faster.  
Now, the sun's down and the sky is painted in an intense lapislazuli blue. It will only become darker now. Will Harry be able to see well enough when he'll have to shoot? Fuck, he didn't think of that. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What else did he, in his ignorance, forget?  
Meet me downtown, Malfoy said, but now Harry's in the center of the village and the other boy is nowhere to be seen. Is this a trap? Would Malfoy risk having his own secret exposed? No, that's impossible, Malfoy's too much of a coward for that. Is he not coming anymore?  
But then a figure emerges out of the shadows and comes walking towards Harry. Malfoy's dressed in black, holding a small gun in his hand. It is pointed on the ground, but manages to make Harry nervous enough to slowly pull his own out of the bag.  
He points it towards Malfoy, releases the safety catch.  
“Woah, easy there“, Malfoy says with a smooth voice. “We don't want to do this here, where the whole town could watch, do we?“  
Malfoy is trying to play it cool, but Harry notices that he's slightly trembling. He is nervous as fuck, even more, he is afraid. Harry bares his teeth in a grin. “I know where we can go“, he answers. He'll bring Malfoy to the place where Sirius showed him how to shoot this afternoon.  
He turns around and starts to walk, Malfoy follows after. Other than Harry he doesn't seem to feel comfortable with silence because he tries to initiate a talk, or rather another argument.  
“I'm surprised that you even got hold of a gun“, Malfoy sneers. Harry ignores him to fuck with him.  
“Needless to say that mine's of the finest quality. I considered not wasting it on you, but then I came to the decision that only the best is good enough for me.“  
Harry remains quiet. It's funny how that makes the ridiculousness of Malfoy's word more obvious than anything he could have said.  
Malfoy clears his throat.  
“Why are you even here, Potter?“, he says then, suddenly sounding exhausted. “Are you stalking me?“  
Then, finally, Harry decides to say something. If someone here followed the other, it was Malfoy, even though he doesn't know it.  
“I don't stalk manipulative bastards“, he states. “I had to get away from London. It's not my fault that your rich ass family has to come to this tiny village on vacation.“  
“Guess my parents wanted to show Pansy how miserable poor people's life is before she's gonna marry me and live in wealth“, Malfoy remarks and musters Harry from head to toe. “The thing about you coming from a respectable family was the most ridiculous lie I ever heard.“ His voice sounds a little hesitant, though.  
“Why do you think I ended our little deal?“, Harry growls. “I can pay for myself now.“ He stops walking - they've reached field next to the dark forest.  
“And you know what, Malfoy? I, other than you, don't have to marry an imbecile who wants me to duel another man. I'm doing this for me. I'm doing it for revenge.“ He raises his pistol again and takes a few steps away from Malfoy.  
The other one's face is white and his jaw is clenched as he raises the gun. It's shaking slightly. Harry's own is steady - he feels mighty. Should he go for a shoulder or for a leg? He wants it to hurt, to bleed. He wants Malfoy to hurt for what he did to him.  
“We could shoot in the air, you hide for the rest of our stay and I tell Pansy that I shot you“, Malfoy suddenly suggests. “I'm offering you a way out. You don't have to get hurt.“  
Harry laughs incredulously. “No way, Malfoy.“ He is not going to give up, he won't be made smaller than Malfoy, never again.  
Malfoy lowers his gun and Harry gets angry. “Hey, we're doing this now, don't you fucking dare to back down!“ He clamps his own pistol. “Point your gun on me! Try to be courageous one damn time in your miserable life!“  
But Malfoy doesn't raise the finely worked pistol again, instead he just stares at Harry, trembling. “Coward!“, Harry screams, annoyed. Malfoy knows that he won't shoot him like this.  
“I - I can't“, Malfoy whispers, all arrogance suddenly replaced by fear, no, terror.  
With an angry growl, Harry throws his own gun to the ground and runs towards the blond boy, fists raised.  
Smack! Malfoy goes flying backwards and lands on his back, hard. Harry's over him immediately, punching that face again. His vision is blurred, he sees red, lands another punch, another, another.  
Then he registers that Malfoy underneath him is not fighting back. Tears are now streaming down his cheeks. Blood's coming from somewhere, Harry is not sure where.  
This view brings at least half the relief the shooting would have done. Harry bows down to Malfoy's face, bitterness seeping into his voice. “You are snobbish scum, Malfoy“, he says quietly. “I HATE you!“  
Then he gets up, brushes the dirt from his knees and collects his gun. With one last glance over the shoulder he leaves the boy crying and bleeding on the ground alone.  
Sirius is nervously waiting at the farmer's house when Harry comes around the corner and startles him. “Harry! Did he not turn up?“ “He did“, Harry says and wipes the blood from his knuckles. “He was to afraid to duel me. I beat him up instead.“  
He says it with all the venom he manages to bring up, but there is a small, nagging feeling inside his stomach. Could it really be that he's feeling guilt?  
No, no way, that can't be. He only gave Malfoy what he deserved for stomping on him. Malfoy thought that people like Harry were no more than dirt on his shoe. There was no reason to treat Malfoy any better than he would treat him.  
Sirius accompanies Harry back inside. Ron's still awake, waiting for Harry anxiously. When he's told how things went, the ginger's face lights up in relief. “Honestly, Harry, this was the better outcome for you. You got to fuck up the fag, which you wanted so bad for some reason, yet nobody died or got shot at. Now put that silly gun away.“  
Harry does so and spends the rest of the night cuddled into a blanket next to his friend, Ron. It takes a while until he's finally able to fall asleep.


End file.
